


Only if my own true love was waiting

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Tomorrow Is a Long Time [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Grief, M/M, TW: death of cat (non-graphic), brief Athos/Sylvie - Freeform, tw: Animal Harm (non-graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: D'Artagnan has recovered from his shooting by the Russians, Garrison has been reformed, but there is no work yet for the boys and the new company.A chance meeting with a young woman journalist who is receiving a mountain of abuse from her opponents, leads Athos and D'Artagnan down a murky path of political intimidation and personal harassment. As they try to protect their new friend and find the bastards behind it all, d'Artagnan struggles with his continuing grief over Constance, and Athos is desperate to hide his real feelings from his dear friend.Before the mess can be resolved, lives will be endangered, feelings will be explored, and both men will be forced to confront their fears and hidden emotions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My sincere thanks to Thimblerig for hand-holding, encouragement, and assistance with the tricky bits.
> 
> See end notes for trigger and content warnings.

_Free for lunch/dinner this week?_

Athos stared at the message, instinctively trying to work out what his ex-wife was up to. It had been nearly five months since he had seen Anne, and four since he had any contact with her.

Then he realised he had no need to overthink this any more. _Tomorrow is good for lunch. Free all day. Pick time/place._

She replied with a restaurant they’d met in before, and nominated twelve-thirty. No mention of why she wanted to see him, but Athos thought he could wait to find out.

He was fairly relaxed about Anne these days. She was happy with someone else, and he had an explanation for some of the worst offences he’d held against her. More than that, they had worked together, supported each other through some rough shit, and while she was still someone he would always keep slightly at arms length, the coruscating hate had gone. And he was happier for it, as was she, he imagined.

Today he had other things to think about. The floor of the main bathroom in their house was suffering a serious damp rot problem because a pipe had developed a hidden leak. Since the dower house had been left empty for so long, no one had noticed, until the four of them had all decamped there after the collapse of Garrison. Now he had to arrange a builder to come and fix it, because though his team were capable, brave, and agile, their specialised training had failed to teach them how to replace a timber floor or repair old pipes without the use of duct tape and nail guns.

He had left several messages with local tradespeople and could only wait for one of them to call back. He was searching for more prospects when d’Artagnan wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Their household went through enough tea and coffee in a day to fuel a household of eight for a week, or so Aramis had once calculated.

“Any luck?” d’Artagnan asked as he leaned against the sink.

“Not at all. We might have to move out if it becomes unsafe. We can’t manage with just the ensuite.”

“Moving would at least be something to do. I’m bored, Athos.” He gave Athos the benefit of his limpid brown eyes.

Athos lifted an eyebrow. “Go write a novel. Or a run.”

“What the hell is Treville doing? _Le Palais_ will go broke if we don’t get a contract soon.”

“The money is not your problem.” It was Athos’s, of course. “Restructuring takes time. Seriously, find the others and go for a run. You’re getting fat.”

D’Artagnan blinked at this outrageous lie, then grinned and shook his head. “Desperate, Athos.”

Athos refused to show a reaction, though he was secretly delighted to wring a smile from the lad. D’Artagnan was doing better, but smiles were still too rare. It was easier now he had fully recovered from the shooting in January. The injuries had been painful and slow to heal, and frustrating to a normally overactive, healthy young man, even one who wasn’t also grieving.

Bent over his phone again, Athos jumped a little when a cup of coffee landed in front of him. He looked up, and found d’Artagnan sipping from his own mug. “You looked like you needed one,” he said with a shrug.

“Thank you, I did.” He picked up the cup. “I have to go into town tomorrow. Fancy a trip in with me?”

“Sure, why not? What are you doing?”

“Meeting Anne for lunch.”

“Oh.” D’Artagnan cheerful expression had become blank. “Why?”

“She asked. I don’t know why.”

“Right.”

“Does it bother you?”

D’Artagnan straightened. “No, no. Just surprised.”

“Me too. I don’t imagine it will be a lengthy lunch. We could hang around and have dinner in town if you like. Or do something in the afternoon.”

The blank expression came alive again. Athos had grown used to d’Artagnan’s mercurial moods by now. “There’s an exhibition I kind of wanted to see, [on artists and robots](https://www.grandpalais.fr/en/event/artistes-robots). Sounds cool, but dunno if you’d be interested.”

“I’ll try anything once. So we could go in, you have lunch where you like, and I’ll meet you after.”

“Sounds good.” D’Artagnan finished his coffee and went to the sink to wash the mug out and set it to drain. “See you later.”

He was no longer smiling as he left. Athos frowned. His team weren’t as relaxed about Anne as he was. Aramis was, a bit. Porthos, definitely not. D’Artagnan didn’t like to talk about her at all. It was almost like they thought the whole Garrison mess was her fault, when actually Anne was a victim just as much as d’Artagnan had been.

Oh well. They didn’t have to like her, and he didn’t care one way or the other, so long as it didn’t make things harder for d’Artagnan. He had enough shit to work through.

His phone rang. Treville. “Good morning, Jean.”

“Good morning. When are you in Paris next?”

“Tomorrow, as it happens.”

“Can we meet? Just wanted to go over some ideas. Afternoon?”

“Morning,” Athos said firmly. He wasn’t going to let d’Artagnan down. “And I have lunch with Anne.”

“Fine. Is ten good?”

“Yes. Any work coming up for us?”

“Maybe.”

“Great. See you tomorrow.”

Athos left another voicemail with another builder, then decided enough was enough. He didn’t want to spend all morning of a lovely spring day, sitting on the damn phone. There were sounds coming from the back garden. D’Artagnan had talked one of the other two into a spar. Maybe Athos could persuade the spare team-mate into one as well.

*******************************

“What are you planning to do this morning?” Athos asked as the two of them sat down on the train.

“Dunno. Musée d’Orsay, maybe.”

“What about the Louvre?”

The change in d’Artagnan’s expression told Athos he’d stepped in it. “Not on my own.”

Ah. Another place that held bittersweet memories for the lad. “Next time I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t...I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, I just like the Louvre,” Athos said with complete truth. “And next time, we could make it a whole day and have lunch too.”

“That’d be nice,” d’Artagnan said, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he came back to himself. “What does Treville want?”

“Just planning. Recruitment, maybe. We need more people.”

“Not yet, we don’t.”

“Give it time.”

D’Artagnan only grunted, managing to sound disappointed and sceptical at the same time. Athos didn’t blame him. Unfortunately Garrison’s failure and the reason for it had hit its reputation hard, and Treville’s along with it. They had started a new company— _Le Palais_ —more or less from scratch earlier in the year, after two months of dealing with the legal and security fall out from Ana Mauricia’s choices under blackmail the previous year. She was now disconnected from the business, and definitely no part of the new company, but it was taking time to rebuild client trust, and recruit new personnel.

Athos was a silent partner with his money providing the bulk of the start-up funding.  Treville’s friend, Georges de Foix, was an active, up front addition to the management team, and they had hired de Foix’s clever sister, Lucie, to handle the tech and backend systems.

The fundamentals were all there. Finding clients who weren’t themselves a threat to national security, who could afford _Le Palais_ ’s fees, and who want to use a company arising from the ashes of another whose owners had been thoroughly humiliated in the press, was proving difficult.

D’Artagnan remained subdued until they left the train, and as they made arrangements to meet after lunch at a café near the Grand Palais, Athos again regretted not putting off Treville so he could have spent the morning with his friend. But it was too late now.

“Have fun,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ll try.” D’Artagnan didn’t sound too hopeful he’d succeed. Athos patted him on the shoulder and made a resolution to do more to cheer him up. Just giving him the company of the others wasn’t enough. At least, not while they had nothing else to do.

The meeting with Treville and de Foix didn’t offer much hope in that direction. “We relied too heavily on Louis and Ana’s personal network with Garrison,” Treville said. “Louis isn’t feeling terribly charitable about that at the moment, and Ana...well, she’s in a cocoon and uninterested in what we’re doing.”

“Charming,” Athos said. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it hadn’t been—”

Treville raised a hand. “Yes, I know. But she went through a terrible time, and it’s not over, not with Rochefort not coming to trial for months yet. If ever. DGSE aren’t exactly delighted to have their dirty laundry aired.”

Athos tried not to look or sound as irritated by that as he was. “So, what are you doing to make up the lack? If there’s no market for what we’re doing, at least as Garrison reborn, then maybe we should cut our losses and go our own ways. My team are going stir-crazy. It’s not fair on them, and it’s incredibly tough on d’Artagnan.”

“I’m sorry,” Treville said, and seemed to mean it. He more than anyone would know how badly inactivity affected highly trained soldiers. “One thing Ana did do was send us a list of events that would expose us to the kind of clients we want to attract, and obtained some invitations for private events. So we’re about to hit the social scene, and that’s where you and the others can help. We’ll be going to parties and public events, using charm and accessibility to meet our target audience.”

“Charm? That leaves me out,” Athos said, not joking at all.

But Treville smiled. “I’ve seen you in a suit. You can do it. With your background, you need to do it. Aramis was born to it. I’ll email you a list, and I expect all of you to play your part. The first one is this Thursday evening. Better brush off your dinner suits.”

“Jean, when I said we needed something to do, this wasn’t it.” De Foix hid a smile behind his hand at Athos’s plaintive tone.

“Consider it practice when we get more close protection work. Cornet’s people will be doing it too.”

“Wonderful.” Athos checked his watch. “I have lunch with Anne at twelve-thirty. Is there—”

“Anne...de Winter?”

“Yes? What of it?”

“Nothing. Just surprised, that’s all.”

Athos shook his head. “Is there anything else?”

“No. Once we do the glad-handing, we’re moving onto the advertising. Make sure you all have business cards on you at all times. You never know who you might meet or where. And, uh, maybe dress up a little when you’re in town.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

De Foix was definitely grinning. “A tie wouldn’t go amiss,” Treville said.

“A tie? Jean, I’m a soldier, not a dressmaker’s dummy.”

“You’re the product. Wear a tie, and a jacket. An ironed shirt, definitely. Oh, and get your hair cut. Shave too.”

“Next you’ll be telling me I need a manicure.”

“If you have time.”

Athos let out a disgusted whoosh of air. “I preferred it when we were dodging Russian bullets.”

“All in good time. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks for coming in.”

Athos stood outside the office building where they had set up new headquarters, and contemplated running away to join the circus. He’d become a soldier precisely because all the bullshit that went with being bloody rich and from a good family bored him witless. Now Treville wanted him to dive back into that?

Aramis would be delighted, and he’d drag Porthos along too, just to see him in a nice suit. But whether d’Artagnan would, he had no idea.

*******************************

Anne arrived just a minute after him, elegant in a little black dress and silver accessories, her hair in a perfect chignon, and accepted a polite kiss on the cheek with a warm smile before sitting.

She looked...better. Sleeker, happier, and definitely healthier than she had after that wretched business in Russia.

From the look she gave him, she wasn’t so impressed with him. “Olivier, you’re running to seed.”

“Nice to see you too, dear,” he said, lifting an empty glass.

“You couldn’t wear a tie?”

“What is this obsession with ties?”

She pouted. “I thought you might make an effort.”

“I did.” He sighed. “Let’s order and you can tell me your news. I have none, so there’s no point in asking.’

The slightest lift of a shapely eyebrow was her only reaction, before accepting a menu and bending to read.

Strange how he knew she would have salad, fish, and white wine, and avoid the bread except for one roll, neatly torn and buttered. Her tastes in this hadn’t changed a whit in...God, nearly nine years.

She caught him looking as the waiter left them. “What?”

“Nothing. So, what’s on your mind?”

“Various things. Treville asked me to work for him. I thought I’d ask your opinion.”

“Not permission, I hope.”

“One assumes if you were that violently opposed,” she said with a tiny smirk, “he would not have offered.”

“What happened to hating to work with a team?”

“I wouldn’t be most of the time.”

“Ah. He’s not having much luck finding new clients.”

“Yes, I heard. I’m hoping to help with that, in exchange for his...protection.”

Athos regarded her, wondering if she was hiding something. “Do it, if it pleases you. I never want to have you in that situation again, and if he can prevent that—”

“ _I_ can prevent that,” she said somewhat tartly, “if I’m not being set up by one of Ana’s old boyfriends determined to force her into accepting his demands and his advances.”

Athos made a face. “Yuck.”

“Yes, quite. She—we—owe your Constance over that, did you know?” Athos shook his head. “As the AI was self-destructing, it sent a squirt of identifying data to all devices with an open port, including Rochefort’s. It also saved logs and copies of all instructions from all external devices into a secure directory which was preserved throughout the process. It was quite impossible for him to deny what he had done and ordered with that evidence all over his iPad and computer and phone, let alone what was downloaded to Garrison’s servers. It means he’ll go down at the very least for blackmail and attempted murder, in addition to all the other lovely charges DGSE will find evidence for.”

This time, Athos lifted his water glass, now full, in a real salute. “To Constance.”

She touched his glass with her own. “To Constance. I wish I’d met her.”

“Um, perhaps it was better you hadn’t.” Constance had been outspoken in her indignation at Anne’s crimes against Athos and their team. Anne would not have made a good impression. “Is that all the news?”

“No. One more thing.” She reached into her handbag and drew out a portable hard drive. She handed it to him. “That’s all of the brain data downloads Constance made and used for the AI. Ana’s written an interface so d’Artagnan can look through it and listen or read. And there’s a clean copy of the AI programme itself, before it was been Garrisonised.” She smiled. “You look shocked.”

“I am. I mean, I’m pleased. But I thought Ana was too caught up in her own misery—” He stopped as Anne shook her head.

“She is, but working on this helped. She owes Constance and d’Artagnan, as do I. She, at least, has never been accused of being an ungrateful bitch.”

Athos didn’t correct her. He had called Ana that a number of times, or words to that effect, out loud and in his head. “He’ll treasure this.”

“She has copies, if that is corrupted or lost. How is he?”

“Better. Still grieving. It’s not been a year. If we had work, it would help. He’s been perfectly fit to go back on the job for a month, but nothing’s come up. Have you heard about this plan to schmooze our way to winning clients?”

Her smile became smug. “Oh yes. I’ve been recruited to help. Do wear a nice suit, Olivier. It’s expected. And get Aramis onto it too. He has a certain charm for people who like that kind of thing. Men and women.”

“Yes, he does. He’s a lot like you in that respect.”

Her chin came up. “I’m better.”

“If you say so.”

The first course arrived, and they ate while discussing Ana’s son, and her ex-husband, and how Ana was still navigating her post-marriage life. The DGSE investigation was on-going, but Ana had been cleared of any deliberately treasonous acts, though she recognised she had been foolish.

“What will she do now?” Athos asked as the second course plates were taken away.

“She wants to develop the AI—Constance gave her explicit permission to do so. It’s hot technology, and she has a real talent there. She doesn’t need to work for money, but she needs to work for herself.”

“Yes, I know the feeling. Coffee?” He lifted a finger for the waiter to come and take their order. “How does she feel about you remaining in the security game?”

“Rather as you do. As long as I don’t end up back in Russia, in a safe house being...you know.” Her mouth tightened. “It’s not like I want to do that either.”

“No, I imagine not. Are you okay, Anne? Really okay?”

Her chin tilted again. “Yes, I am. Why, looking for someone fragile to look after?”

“Not in the least. Merely concerned.” Though sometimes, he wondered why he bothered. She was tougher than him by a long way. “I only want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Her posture relaxed minutely. “Thank you...for caring.”

“If I can’t do that much at least, I’d be a pretty poor ex-husband.”

“You’re better than Louis, at least. The whining, oh God, the whining.”

Athos grinned. “Asking me to care about your girlfriend’s ex is stretching goodwill too far.”

“It’s stretching mine, that’s for sure.” The coffee arrived and she stirred a single spoon of sugar into hers, as she always had. “And you. Are you happy?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not an answer, Olivier.”

“It’s the only one I have. I’m doing better than I expected. How’s that?”

“Pathetic,” she said, but without any heat behind it. She drank her coffee in one sip, and set the cup down. “I can’t stay much longer.”

“Nor I. I’m meeting d’Artagnan to see a robot exhibition.”

Her nose wrinkled a little. “How...juvenile.”

“You know men. All little boys at heart.” Predictably, she rolled her eyes. He drank his coffee quickly, then rose. “Shall we?”

He paid the bill and walked her out. “Same time next year?” he said.

She laughed a little. “I imagine we’ll see each other before then.” A little hesitantly, she kissed his cheek. “Until then.”

“Of course.”

He watched her walk away, before heading in the other direction and hailing a taxi. He didn’t want to be late.

*******************************

D’Artagnan couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm for playing tourist, even when the weather was fair and he had things to see. It was tiresome to be so depressed about a day having fun. He liked Paris, on the whole, even with the memories being back in the city were stirring up.

What he hated was being in this city on his own. He knew it well, after all. Constance had been in Paris ever since he arrived and started work for Garrison, and afterwards....

Afterwards, it had been the team. His team. Athos, Aramis, Porthos. Never had one or more of them been absent from his side, until now.

And he couldn’t bear it. “Come on, it’s four fucking hours,” he muttered. _Pull it together._ But everywhere he looked, in everything he heard, there was an absence that sucked at his soul, and made him want to fall to the ground and weep like a child.

It was possible he needed to see someone again.

It was also possible he’d get over it after a few visits on his own to harden up. He was ex-Special-fucking-Forces, after all. This was ridiculous.

He took himself over to the [Le Musset](http://lemusset.paris/) café for lunch, though he had little appetite. He ordered a _croque madame_ and a fruit juice, and pulled out his phone to see if Athos had left a message. He hadn’t, but he was still probably in the middle of his own lunch with his ex.

He flicked desultorily through a news feed on his phone, not really paying attention to it or much around him. Not until he heard a sharp note of irritation—no, more than that—with a feminine tone. He looked around and spotted a pretty young woman at a table with a book and folder in front of her. A man, somewhat older, was seated across from her, but her body language—tight mouth, arms folded, learning away, her book and folder pushed forward—indicated he was not welcome.

D’Artagnan listened to what she was saying, and the responses, and decided to act. He walked over. “Ah, _chérie_ , there you are! Sorry I’m late.” He bent as if to kiss her cheek, and whispered, “Play along if you want him to go.”

He stood up. “I didn’t know you had invited someone else, darling?” He stared at the man. “Do I know you, _monsieur_?

“Uh, no. I saw the _mademoiselle_ was on her own—”

“And now she’s not.”

D’Artagnan kept his stare hard and cold, his voice quiet but imbued with the threat of physical action. The guy hastily climbed to his feet and walked away at speed, leaving the café altogether.

D’Artagnan looked down at the young woman. “I, um, thought you might like some help.”

She smiled  up at him. “I did. Thank you. I only wanted to eat in peace.”

He made a small bow. “And so you shall, _madame_.”

“Wait—are you here on your own too?”

“Yes, but I’m meeting someone in an hour to go to see the robot exhibition.”

“Oh, I saw that this morning. That’s why I’m having lunch here. It’s very good.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t raise a fuss if you wanted to share my table.”

He gestured at the things in front of her. “But you have—”

“Armour. Which didn’t work.” She picked up the book and folder and shoved them into the briefcase at her feet. She held out her hand. “Sylvie Boden.”

“Charles d’Artagnan. Are you sure?”

“I would be honoured.”

“Okay.” He caught the eye of his waiter and indicated he had changed tables. Then he sat down opposite his new companion. “Does that kind of thing happen often?”

“More than I’d like. You’d think a simple ‘no’ would be enough, but apparently not.”

“I’d apologise for my gender, but that’s not my job. I’m sorry you meet so many tossers.”

She grinned. “Welcome to the world of woman, Charles.”

“D’Artagnan. Charles—” He inhaled, and lied. “Is what my grandmother calls me.”

“And I’m not, so...d’Artagnan. Do you live in Paris?”

“Not any more. I...we...my friends and I, we moved to Pinon a few months ago. I haven’t been back since.”

Her wide brown eyes regarded him calmly, thoughtfully. “And you’re finding it difficult for some reason.”

D’Artagnan shrugged and looked away.

“My dad died just before Christmas.” His eyes met hers again in surprise. She continued in the same calm, quiet voice. “It had been coming a while. He suffered a heart attack after being beaten up in October after a rally, and never really recovered. The beating happened not far from here. I’ve been taking longer routes from our apartment, just to avoid that spot. Stupid, really. The street didn’t beat him up.”

D’Artagnan nodded. She smiled and didn’t push, and eventually he admitted, “My wife. Cancer. Almost a year ago.”

She put her hand on his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

The waiter came over just then with their orders. D’Artagnan reached for his drink and swallowed the cool juice, concentrating on the sensation, and using the pause to calm down. Sylvie looked down at her plate and gave him privacy until he collected himself.

“It’s shit the way it hits out of the blue, isn’t it?” she said. “For a month, I cried over breakfast every damn morning. I have no idea why. Papa never ate breakfast.” She chuckled suddenly. “Look at us. Chef is going to think it’s the food.”

He grinned damply at that.

“That looks good,” she said, picking up her fork and indicated his _croque madame_.

“So does yours. My mother used to make that dish sometimes.”

“So did mine.” She tasted a mouthful, taking her time over it. “I think this is better. She was better at writing than cooking.”

“ _Maman_ was a wonderful cook. Fortunately, she taught me before she died. I did all the cooking at home until I joined the Army.”

“Your father?”

“Died a couple of years ago.”

Her mouth turned down. “Wow, you’ve had some bad luck.”

“Yeah, you could say.” He took a deep breath and smiled. “Let’s change the subject again.  What do you do?”

Her eyes sparkled. “I stir up shit.”

It startled a laugh out of him. “So do I, but I doubt in the same way as you.”

As he picked at his meal, she explained. She was a journalist and an activist for immigrant and women’s rights, struggling to keep the organisation her father had founded, together and moving forward.

“We’ve had some wins, but being led by a woman doesn’t sit well with some of our older members, and certainly not with our right-wing opponents. I also annoy people on a regular basis with my newspaper column in L’Obs. To tell the truth, my unwanted companion was a refreshing change. Usually someone comes over to deliver a load of abuse to me while I’m trying to order my lunch.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It really is, and your food’s getting cold,” she added with a gentle smile.

“I’m not hungry, to be honest.”

“Shame to waste food.”

He could have been offended, but her mouth seemed always on the verge of a cheeky grin, so he rolled his eyes and ate the rest of his meal.

“I should at least offer to pay for your lunch, since you were so helpful,” she said when they were done.

D’Artagnan waved his hand in front of her in refusal. “I can’t allow that. I owe you for the company. Would you like coffee? It’s on me...and my friend isn’t here yet.”

Her smile was extraordinarily bright. “Well then, it would be rude to depart before he arrives, so, thank you. Only make it tea, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Don’t mind at all,” he said, grinning back.

*******************************

Athos walked into Le Musset at two-thirty exactly, but didn’t spot d’Artagnan immediately. That was because he was looking for a man sitting on his own at a table. When he spotted his friend, he was surprised to finding him talking to a striking-looking black woman—and, good God, was d’Artagnan _smiling_?

He walked up to their table. “Charles? Am I late?”

D’Artagnan rose hastily. “No, no. Athos, this is Sylvie Boden. Sylvie, Athos.”

She stayed seated, but held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Athos. D’Artagnan was kind enough to remove a nuisance, and I invited him to join me. Please do sit. We’ve just had our tea brought over.”

Athos sat, and waved away the waiter. “A nuisance?”

“A bloke thinking he could impose,” d’Artagnan said with a frown.

“D’Artagnan pretended to be my partner and shooed him away. It was neatly done,” she said, her smile lighting up wide, intelligent eyes.

“D’Artagnan is pretty good at that kind of thing,” Athos said, genuinely impressed. D’Artagnan looked down at his tea cup, but was no longer frowning. “Are we still up for this exhibition, or have you made other plans?”

“Oh, no, we’re still up for it. Sylvie says it’s brilliant.”

“I think you’ll enjoy it,” she said to Athos. “At least, I hope you do.”

She had such an attractive, husky voice. “I confess, it’s been too long since we...I...did anything like this.”

“I told her about Constance,” d’Artagnan said. “She understands. She lost her dad last year.”

“My condolences,” Athos said with a little nod.

“Thanks,” she said, her smile gone. “It’s hard to get back into the saddle after you lose someone, but you just have to. Life has to be lived, or else, what use is having it?”

“Sounds a healthier approach than I’ve been able to make, too many times.” Her eyes asked a question, but Athos wasn’t going to talk about his own situation in front of a comparative stranger, however kind.

“D’Artagnan said you both work in the security industry. Are you both ex-military?”

Athos nodded at d’Artagnan to encourage him to answer. “Both Special Forces,” d’Artagnan said.

“Good heavens. That must come in handy when you’re protecting someone.”

“More than you’d think.” D’Artagnan finished his tea. “We should go and let you do what you have to. Please allow me to pay for your lunch? I would be honoured.”

Sylvie gave him a long look, glanced at Athos, then smiled. “Then I accept, though I’m the one who owes you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure.”

“And for me,” Athos said. “Thank you.”

She didn’t ask what he meant, but he was sure she knew. D’Artagnan paid, and gave her a little wave as they walked out.

“You made a friend,” Athos said.

“She’s really nice. How was lunch with you know who?”

“Surprisingly pleasant. I have things to give you, but it can wait. Let’s do this exhibition.”

After they bought their tickets, Athos told him about the charm offensive Treville had ordered. D’Artagnan groaned. “I don’t own a decent suit any more, other than the one I wore to the funeral, and I’m damn well not wearing that.”

“Then when we’re done here, we’re going shopping. Apparently I have to buy a bloody tie.” The amusement d’Artagnan got from his disgusted expression, was more than worth the hassle of being made to wear one.

The exhibition was, as d’Artagnan’s new friend foretold, quite good. They left at four-thirty, more than enough time to look for suits. Athos herded d’Artagnan up Rue François-Ier towards [Canali](https://www.canali.com/en_fr/homepage/), which Anne had recommended. Not that he told d’Artagnan that.

“We’ll just pick up tuxedos for now, and get other suits once I know what Treville has in mind,” he said as they walked in. “A couple of dress shirts, accessories, all that. Ah, _monsieur_ ,” he said as the assistant approached. “We both need tuxedos and everything that goes with them, including shoes. The best you have, please.”

The assistant bowed. “Of course, _monsieur_. Please come with me.”

Athos batted away d’Artagnan’s quiet yelp about the prices. “It’s all on me,” he said. “So just...go make yourself look impressive.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. We rise and fall on your handsome looks.”

D’Artagnan gave him the finger, but then paid attention to the assistant wanted to know his size and preference.

Athos surrendered himself to another member of staff. He had tuxedos and suits and everything else in storage, but he doubted any of it still fitted, even if they weren’t full of moth holes, and they mostly predated his marriage. He resigned himself to being a clothes horse in the service of _Le Palais_ , and went for broke.

When d’Artagnan emerged wearing [the suit](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/0e/86/200e86edab2de68afd52f172e4533304.jpg), Athos whistled, and the assistant clapped his hands in delight. “Oh yes. That’s the one.” The man fussed around, tweaking and straightening, while d’Artagnan looked pleadingly over his head at Athos. “Of course, we can have it fitted perfectly—”

Athos cleared his throat. “We don’t have time, unfortunately. We need them for Thursday.”

“But that’s plenty of time. You can pick it up tomorrow afternoon, if I make the adjustments now.”

“Do it,” Athos said. “I’ll pay for speed.”

“Of course, _monsieur_.” The assistant took another moment or two to admire d’Artagnan in the tuxedo, before clicking his fingers to have his subordinate help him.

*******************************

“There you are, _monsieur_. He will be very proud of you.”

D’Artagnan blinked at the assistant’s reflection in the mirror. “Who? Athos?”

“Your partner. The older man?”

“He’s just my friend.”

“Ah, of course,” the man corrected himself with professional grace. “But nonetheless, you will look very handsome together. Now we’re done. How many shirts do you require?”

“Two, and two pairs of dark socks. Black bowtie.”

“And cufflinks?”

“I have those.” Constance had given him a pair as an engagement present. He would wear nothing else.

“I will have them all ready for you when you come to collect the suit. This way, please.”

D’Artagnan followed the guy out into the boutique. Athos was all done. “Please charge everything to this,” he said, holding up his credit card. “D’Artagnan, is there anything else you need?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“ _Monsieur_ may call us to add anything to the order, if he wishes,” the assistant said. “You will be able to collect the suit any time after noon tomorrow.”

“I’ll let you know what we’re doing about that,” Athos said.

When the bill was rung up, d’Artagnan tried not to show how shocked he was at the total, but as they left and headed for the station, he protested. “Athos, you don’t have to pay that sort of money for my clothes.”

Athos dismissed his words with a little flick of his hand. “Think of them as work uniforms. That’s all they are. I’ll write it off on taxes. Next time we should try Tom Ford. You’d look good as James Bond.”

“Fuck’s sake,” d’Artagnan muttered. “Don’t say shit like that. That bloke thought we were a couple.”

“I should be so lucky.” Before d’Artagnan could respond to this cryptic observation, Athos frowned at his reflection in a window. “Damn it, I need a haircut. And a manicure, according to Treville. Looks like I’m coming to town again on Wednesday. Bugger, I suppose you’ll have to as well, unless you trust the fitting.”

“I don’t mind,” d’Artagnan said, still distracted by Athos’s first comment. “What do you have for me?”

“What? Oh. Wait until we’re home.”

That made d’Artagnan uneasy. It had to be something unpleasant if Athos didn’t want to show him in public. Just the thought of having that ahead of him sent his mood spiralling downwards in seconds. He had no control over it—hadn’t had in nearly a year. It was tiring as well as upsetting.

Athos put his hand on his shoulder as they stood on the crowded train, but said nothing. It helped. Athos was an anchor to reality, a reminder of good things as well as bad. D’Artagnan forced himself to focus on where he was, rather than where his thoughts were.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Athos asked.

“Mostly.” Athos only looked at him, but didn’t comment. “Being on my own was hard. Sounds pathetic.”

Athos shook his head. “It was one of the reasons I used to drink.”

“I get that now. At least I had company over lunch.”

“Will you be up to these soirées? Forced cheerfulness can eat your soul.”

“I’ll give it my best shot. If I can’t do it, I’ll tell you.”

Athos squeezed his shoulder. “Good man. I wasn’t expecting this when we set up _Le Palais_. Uh, Anne will be there as well.”

“She’ll be better than me.”

“Better than both of us,” Athos said, smiling. Was that relief in his voice that d’Artagnan hadn’t made a fuss?  He didn’t really mind. So long as Anne wasn’t hurting Athos, d’Artagnan didn’t care what she did. At least Athos seemed to be completely over her. That was something to be thankful for.

As they got into Athos’s car at the park and ride, Athos said, “Maybe I should book us all a hotel for Thursday night. It could run late, and you’ll be drinking, I suppose. Then you can pick up your suit and change before the function.”

“Whatever.” D’Artagnan didn’t really care. “I mean, it’s a good idea,” he made himself say. “But it’s more cost.”

“Another tax write-off,” Athos said wryly. “Don’t worry about it.”

D’Artagnan stared out the side window. Being rich would be fun. But no amount of money would bring him happiness.

Aramis and Porthos were sitting outside in the late afternoon sunshine when they drove up and parked. Aramis waved as d’Artagnan walked towards them. “Did you have fun?”

“It was okay.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan bestirred himself. “No, it was. The exhibition is good.”

“I made him buy formal clothes,” Athos said. “It was an ambush, I’m afraid.”

“You didn’t make me,” d’Artagnan muttered. “I’m going to cook supper.”

“No need. Isabelle has been and gone and left us with a lasagne. Take a seat and relax,” Aramis said. “Tell us about the robots.”

D’Artagnan was sorry not to have an excuse to escape talking about the day. Athos squinted at him, head cocked. “Actually, I have something to give d’Artagnan before supper. Excuse us, please.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow, while Porthos frowned in concern. Athos ignored them and led d’Artagnan into the kitchen.  He put his backpack on the table, and pulled out a portable hard drive. “Anne gave this to me over lunch. It’s from Ana.”

D’Artagnan didn’t touch it. “Does she want it fixed?”

“No, no. It’s a gift. Well, more like something that’s yours anyway. It’s a clean copy of Constance’s AI program. And there’s also all her downloads, with an interface for you to browse them. Ana wrote it for you.”

D’Artagnan’s legs went to jelly, and he sat down hard in a chair. “Browse?” he whispered.

“Yes. I understand they’ve been turned into sound and images somehow, sort of like a moving photo album. Ana wrote a front end for it. It’s a ‘thank you’ for all you did.”

D’Artagnan was suddenly blinking away tears. He put his hand on the disk, still in the bag. “I thought it was something bad. That you didn’t want to spoil my day.” He looked up at Athos, his vision swimming. “You know what this means to me?”

“I have some idea,” Athos said kindly.” I’m sorry you got the wrong idea.” He whisked a tissue out of a box on the counter and handed it to d’Artagnan. “I only wanted...I suppose I realised it would be...I didn’t want to embarrass you. I do know what it means.”

He sat down and reached across to hold d’Artagnan’s wrist. “This isn’t the only copy. Ana will keep it safe for you. I know it’s not the same as having her back, but it’s still really her, her work, her memories and personality. It’s not the version customised for Garrison.”

D’Artagnan nodded, unable to stop the tears dripping down. “Uh...did you thank her?”

“Anne will pass it on. Do you want to be alone for a bit?”

“Can...would you stay? Not long...just until....”

“I’ll stay as long as you like, Charles.”

*******************************

In the end, he calmed down quickly enough. He excused himself to put the disk in his room and wash his face, while Athos went out and told the others about the charm offensive they were about to engage in.

“I was just saying I can’t wait to see you in a nice suit,” Aramis said when d’Artagnan reappeared.

“You saw me in one last year.”

“I’ll amend that to say, I can’t wait until to see you in a tuxedo and at a party,” his friend corrected smoothly.

“What do I gotta do to get Athos to buy me a fifteen-hundred euro outfit?” Porthos complained.

“Not own a decent one already,” Athos said, head canted in amusement. “Honestly, do I look like I’m made of money?”

“Yeah, you do, actually,” Porthos said. Aramis aimed a cuff at his lover’s head. “Maybe when me and him get hitched, you can spot me a Tom Ford.”

“Have you seen the prices of one of those suits?” Athos complained. “Four thousand euros if it’s a centime.”

“Four thou—” D’Artagnan choked. “You were talking about buying me one!”

“Well, now we know who’s teacher’s pet,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “Blatant favouritism. Makes me wonder why I signed up for this gig in the first place.”

“One, I know the size of your bank account, you faker,” Athos said. “Two, I was joking when I said that, d’Artagnan. And three, if you want Tom Ford suits, Porthos, then you’d better bloody charm the knickers off our potential lady clients when you go to this do on Thursday night. You’re sleeping with my second in command. How’s that for favouritism?”

“Oy, I thought I was second in command.”

“You’ve been sacked for insulting me,” Athos said, straight-faced.

It fooled Porthos for a whole second, which was nine-tenths of a second longer than it should have done. Then the big guy laughed. “This team’s going to wrack and ruin.”

“I should look for a better job, if I were you,” Athos said.

“Stop whining, darling,” Aramis did, scritching his fingers in Porthos’s curls. “Come tell us about this robot thing, d’Artagnan.”

After supper, d’Artagnan went up to his room, and attached the hard drive to his laptop. Ana couldn’t run a business better than the average cat could, but she was a top coder, and her install program ran smooth and cleanly. He went to click on the application icon, but he hesitated, before deleting the shortcut, and closing the laptop lid. He wasn’t ready. The Garrison AI had been awful to endure.

He didn’t want this last gift from Constance to be a poisoned chalice. But he wouldn’t know if it was, until he opened it.

He wasn’t that brave. Not yet.

He looked up and found Athos leaning on the doorjamb. “I...uh....”

“It’s not going anywhere,” Athos said quietly. “I’m not the most empathic person in the world...but if you need to talk, you know where I am. Do you?”

D’Artagnan started to say no, but then couldn’t make the denial come out. Athos straightened up and walked into the room, taking a seat on the desk chair. “Do you want to talk? Or have a drink?”

“Neither.” Athos looked about to rise. “I don’t want to be alone. It really sucked this morning.”

“Being in Paris...on your own?”

“On my own without Constance. Was it like that for you after you...your...?”

Athos put him out of his misery. “Yes, it was. One of the reasons I can’t bear to live in the main house, because everywhere I looked, reminded me of him. And there were certainly places in Paris which I avoided for a very long time after. Still do. But I was never alone, Charles. I’m lucky. Even at my worst, when I was recovering from a week-long binge, night after night of black out drunk, I wasn’t alone. I had Aramis and Porthos. And now I have you. My team. My friends. Loneliness was never my problem.”

“I’m not lonely. Not as such. I just feel...isolated. Like I’m in a bubble of misery that no one can see, that’s keeping anyone from reaching me. I can’t feel anything good, only shit.” Athos was nodding. “You know what I mean?”

“Yes. Was it like this after your parents died?”

“No. When _Maman_ died, Papa was there. When he died, my unit...like you were saying.”

“But when Constance died? We weren’t there?”

“No, no! I don’t mean...shit.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I mean. I don’t even understand it myself.”

“When Thomas died,” Athos said thoughtfully, “my other brothers were there. When Constance died, there wasn’t another lover or wife to console you. We’re not enough, and that’s just the way it is. Jean...Treville’s wife died when he was only thirty, did you know that?”

D’Artagnan stared at his friend. “I didn’t know he’d ever been married.”

“Oh, yes. His first sweetheart, married when they were both nineteen. A car accident. He was driving, which made it worse. After Thomas...and Anne, we talked about it a few times. He told me it still hurts a quarter of a century on. No one took her place. No one could.”

“It’s not healthy, that he never found anyone else.”

“Oh yes, he did,” Athos said, shaking his head. “He’s seeing someone now. I believe they’ve been talking about marriage, though there’s no hurry. It still hurts, but the bubble didn’t last. That part goes away, Charles. You just need to hang on, and let us help, however we can.”

“It doesn’t feel like it will ever change.”

“I know. But it does. You will change. You have changed. Six months ago, sitting down and chatting with that lass at lunch would have been beyond you. And while we were looking at that exhibition, you were getting really into it, and sounded happy. It’s just your heart is trying to tell you that it’s wrong to feel good, so you deny what’s happening, what your brain is telling you. Eventually, the brain wins. Especially,” he added with a wry look, “if you don’t soak your brain in alcohol and cripple it to the point it can’t fight back.”

D’Artagnan looked at his feet and thought. It was almost exactly what had happened that day. He’d felt good until he realised he did, and then felt guilty about it. Then he felt like shit. “It’s not deliberate.”

“Of course it isn’t. It’s a dirty rotten trick our psyches play on us. You’re doing fine, Charles. Doing well. You can’t see it because you’re still inside the bubble, but we can. Just keep pushing yourself. You’ll get through it.”

“As much as I ever can, you mean.”

Athos’s expression was kind. “No one ever said life was fair.”

“No, they didn’t. Thanks, Athos.”

Athos stood. “You’re welcome. Do you want to come downstairs?”

“I think I might get an early night.”

“Sleep well then.”

D’Artagnan doubted he would, but he would certainly try.


	2. Chapter 2

“Now that’s an improvement,” Treville said as he came to Athos’s side. “You look more like the man I recruited.”

“I should hope nearly two thousand euros in new clothes and shoes would make a difference.”

Treville shot a sideways glance at him. “Let me guess. Tax write-off.”

“Absolutely. Worth every centime too. Look at d’Artagnan.”

The youngest member of their team was surrounded by women, several of whom were close enough to sniff him and very likely to try. “Good God. He could be a super model.”

“I know. How much do you think he’s worth in social networking?”

“More than you’re paying, I bet. Anne’s here. She, uh, did warn you?”

“Yes, of course. Calm down, Jean. Shouldn’t you be chatting with potential clients?”

“Shouldn’t _you_?”

“I got here ten minutes ago. I’m easing myself in. I’m not a natural at it. Not like those two.” He lifted his glass of mineral water to indicate Aramis and Porthos, chatting separately to people, though standing not all that far apart. “I don’t even know why I’m here when these three are.”

“You’re the senior officer ready to provide information about our services once interest is engaged. Hope you’ve got your business cards.”

“We all have, Papa. Go chat up a duchess or something.”

Treville gave an amused grunt. “Not here. It’s all cabinet ministers and leaders of industry. MPs and hangers-on. Please don’t get into an argument about politics with anyone.”

“As if I would.”

Treville lifted an eyebrow at him and walked off. He was claimed by a man who recognised him, and was soon deep in conversation.

Athos didn’t really know how to initiate a chat with a stranger, not when it wasn’t about security or policing. He’d always left that to those around him who were naturally gregarious. Maybe Anne would introduce him to someone.

“Athos, isn’t it?”

He turned. “Yes. Madame Boden, nice to see you again.”

“It’s Sylvie, and same here.” She was dressed in a chic burnt orange dress accessorised with arty, modern copper and wood earrings and necklace, her abundant hair up in a fancy bun with Nigerian figurines on sticks stuck through it. “Sorry to call you by your first name, but, uh, d’Artagnan didn’t tell me your surname. I thought it must be secret.”

“No, just complicated. ‘Athos’ is more a nickname. I’m Olivier d’Athos, but the only person who calls me that is my ex-wife. Everyone else, friend or enemy, calls me—”

“Athos.” She smiled. He liked the sound of his name in her mouth. “Why are you here? Are you interested in the new culture centre?”

“Trawling for clients, to tell the truth. You aren’t in need of close protection, are you? I’m supposed to be charming my way to new customers.”

She grinned. “I wish I could hire you, but I could probably afford about three minutes’ worth of your time.”

He caught the serious note under the joke. “Is there a reason you would like to hire us? Cost aside, I mean.”

Her smile became fixed. “I’ve had some letters. Emails. Anonymous online garbage. Threatening me. I wouldn’t be worried if it wasn’t for the fact my father died because someone targeted him at a demonstration.”

“I’m so very sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. Mouthy woman in the public eye, what else should I expect? So everyone tells me.”

There was only a suspicion of bitterness under the light remark. “No one should have to endure that, Sylvie. Is it aimed at your organisation or you particularly?”

“Almost entirely me personally, especially since Papa died, and I took over as chief officer of _Nous Résistons_. It’s been steady for the last four or so months. No actual violence. I mean, other than someone throwing a brick through our office window.” She frowned.

“What else?” Athos nudged. “There’s something more than that.”

“No, nothing. Just...sometimes...it’s silly, especially in Paris. So many people. But sometimes, I think someone’s following me. I never catch them at it. It’s just a feeling.” She rubbed her upper left arm, as if suddenly cold.

“You carry an alarm? Any weapon?”

“An alarm, yes. No weapon, though I’m not helpless. I study martial arts, and I can run in these shoes. I only wear ones I can in.”

“Very sensible.” He pulled one of the new business cards out of his wallet and handed it to her. “If you ever feel you want advice on security matters, I’d be glad to help. For free.”

“Oh, I can’t—”

“I insist. Your kindness to d’Artagnan the other day more than justifies it.”

“But he helped me.”

“Sylvie, it’s the happiest I’ve seen him since his wife died. Certainly around someone he didn’t know. You did him a lot of good.”

She gave him one of her wide smiles. “I’m glad. He’s such a nice man. So sad though.”

“His wife was very special. We all miss her.”

“She must have been very young.”

“Yes. Cancer, did he tell you?”

“Yes.” She turned to where d’Artagnan was standing near Aramis. “He looks amazing in a tuxedo. I saw him before, but he was busy so I didn’t interrupt.”

“He’ll be sorry if you leave before you see him. You should—” Water sloshed from his glass as someone bumped into him hard from behind. His instinct was to reach for his gun, which he wasn’t carrying, but instead he moved forward, away from the threat, then whipped around. He found a tall, blond man wearing a shocked expression and carrying two glasses of champagne, some of whose contents were now on the floor.

“So sorry, _monsieur_. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Athos bit back the “Yes, I could tell,” and smiled thinly to acknowledge the apology.

“ _Monsieur_ Marcheaux. I wondered if I would see you here.”

The clumsy booze bearer looked past Athos at Sylvie and his expression changed to an unpleasant smirk. “Sylvie Boden. I’m surprised to see you out at night. I thought you’d be home polishing your broomstick.”

Athos froze. He barely knew Sylvie, knew nothing about Marcheaux, but instinctively wanted to punch him hard in the face for this remark. She only smiled. “Did that this afternoon. You saw my profile of you in L'Obs?”

“Oh yes. Someone always manages to print off your scribblings to stick in front of me. I never read them, but technically I saw it.”

“Poor trees. You shouldn’t bother printing the articles. I’d send them direct to you if you wanted.”

“Please, don’t bother. I mean, really. I get enough spam. If you’ll excuse me.”

He walked off without another word.

“He seems nice,” Athos murmured.

“Guy Marcheaux’s a complete wanker. I point that out on a regular basis in my column. He basically hates brown people, uppity women, and anyone who thinks he’s a wanker. So he really, really hates me,” she said with a little laugh.

Athos didn’t find it funny. “What does he do?”

“He’s an MP for _France Avance_. Anti-immigrant right-wingers. Nasty, but they polish up nicely. That man over there, with the scars? That’s Lucien Grimaud. I’ve heard rumours he’s the money behind _France Avance_ , but I can’t prove it.” She turned and discreetly indicated a tall, stooped man with a cane. “And that’s the comte de Fèron, Philippe Achille. Party chairman. Rich, from a good family. He’s the acceptable face of _France Avance_. He gets wheeled out whenever any of their people shows the sewerage under the tidy surface.”

“Ah. I’ve seen him once or twice on TV. I don’t really pay attention to politics, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t vote. I’ll have to look down my nose at you if you don’t.”

Athos had to grin. “I vote.”

“That’s all right then.”

Her amusement sent a warm feeling through him. It didn’t last because coming up behind her was Anne, one eyebrow lifted as if she considered the sight before her faintly ridiculous. “Someone’s coming I’ll have to speak to. I’ll catch you later, but please, do call me.”

“I will.”

She slid away gracefully, but not quickly or slickly enough for Anne not to notice. “She’s about ten years too young for you,” she said as she slid into the space Sylvie vacated.

She was devastating in peacock blue shot silk, eyes as large and beguiling as ever, and her black hair glossy and perfect, but he couldn’t let that crack pass. “For you as well. Made any contacts?”

“Hmmm, yes, I have,” she said with a smug smile. “You? Or have you been too busy looking for a shag?”

“I just got here, Anne. D’Artagnan was grateful for Ana's disk, please tell her."

"I will. He looks delicious." She looked him up and down. "You’re not so bad either. You found Canali then."

"Obviously. Thanks for the tip." She shrugged. "What do you know about Guy Marcheaux, Lucien Grimaud, or Philippe Achille?"

She wasn’t remotely surprised by the question. “Money and racism attracts a certain type of voter. Marcheaux's an empty suit—pretty, vicious, essentially just a puppet. Grimaud is someone to avoid. Has money, no morals, and wants to see the world burn. Achille lives like a prince, but owes money to a lot of impatient powerful people. Why?"

“I’m curious, that’s all."

“They won’t use _Le Palais_. They have plenty of muscle for free, and Treville would be mad to align himself with that group. You weren’t—?”

"No, I wasn’t," Athos said quickly. As if.

"Good. I never want to sink that low. Come with me,” she commanded, taking his arm. “You can be my beard."

Athos sighed in resignation. “Yes, dear."

*******************************

“How many?” d’Artagnan asked as a beaming Aramis and a less than happy Porthos came over to join him.

Aramis held up four business cards. “Some of ‘em even want to use the company,” Porthos muttered.

“Oh.”

“Next time,” Porthos said with a glare at his unrepentant lover, “I’m making it clear we’re a couple. None of this pretending to be single crap,”

Aramis stroked his arm. “It’s all part of the game, my love. D’Artagnan? Any luck?”

“A couple of contacts, yeah.” He shifted position. “My feet hurt. Damn these new shoes.”

“Hush, you ungrateful child. One does not curse four-hundred euro footwear.”

“But I want my boots,” d’Artagnan said, deliberately adding a whine to his tone. “Oh God, look. Anne’s trapped Athos.”

The others turned to look at their team leader dutifully listening to his ex-wife. “He doesn’t look too cranky,” Aramis said.

“He had lunch with her. I don’t think he can hate her too much any more,” Porthos said, not sounding happy about it.

“Not as much as you do, darling. But we want him to be chill about her, don’t we?”

“Not so much he falls back into bed with her.”

“I thought she was a lesbian now,” D’Artagnan said.

“Who’s a lesbian?”

He looked to his left, and smiled in delight. “Sylvie! What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Looking for work and contacts. How are you?”

“I’m good. Better,” he added honestly. “Sylvie, these are my team mates, Aramis and Porthos. Guys, this is Sylvie Boden.” They each gave her a little bow as he said their names. “Athos is over there.”

“Yes, I talked to him earlier. Who’s that lovely woman he’s with?”

“That ain’t no woman,” Porthos growled. “She’s his ex-wife.”

“Oh.” Sylvie was trying to hide a smile. “And we don’t approve of her?”

“We don’t,” Porthos said.

“Guys, Sylvie’s a journalist and activist. I had lunch with her on Tuesday.” Aramis got that look in his eyes, so d’Artagnan added, “By accident.”

“How do you have lunch with someone by accident?” Aramis asked.

“He did me a favour and I invited him to join me,” Sylvie said, still staring at Athos with Anne. “If she’s so horrible, why is Athos with her?”

“That’s what we all want to know,” Porthos said.

“Our Athos is a bit reserved, and his ex is the opposite. Since she’s going to be working with us,” Aramis explained, “I suspect she’s introducing him to people who could use our services. She’s involved with someone else now.” He patted Porthos’s arm. “Athos is in no danger.”

Porthos made a sound low in his throat, and Sylvie laughed. “Goodness, she really isn’t popular. So Athos is single?”

“Married to the job,” Aramis said.

“He’s single,” d’Artagnan said, not wanting Sylvie to get the wrong impression. “Why, are you interested?” It hadn’t occurred to him that women might be. Athos was always so stand-offish with strangers.

“Why not? He’s cute, fit, and smart. Or is he too good for me?”

“My dear, I’m sure that applies to absolutely no one,” Aramis said gallantly. She rolled her eyes and d’Artagnan laughed.

“He just never seems that interested,” d’Artagnan said. “But then, he doesn’t get many opportunities.” He looked past her and saw a tall man staring at them with a deep frown on his face. “Why is that man glaring at us?”

“Is he tall and blond, looks a bit like a robot in a suit?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. Ignore him. He’s a pig.” She took his arm. “How was the exhibition?”

“Please excuse us,” Aramis said. “I need another drink, and then we better dive back in.”

“How much longer do we have to do this?” d’Artagnan complained.

“Until Athos gives up, I suppose. Would you like me to drop a hint you want to leave?”

“No. I can stand it as long as he can.”

“That’s my boy.” Aramis nodded politely at Sylvie. “Madame Boden.”

She watched the two leave. “They’re cute.”

“And together,” d’Artagnan said.

“So I gathered. Why is Porthos so grumpy?”

“Porthos is cranky because Aramis is like a walking pheromone machine, and women fall over themselves to get to him.”

“Do they?” Her eyes widened in fake surprise. “Didn’t work on me.”

“He wasn’t really trying.”

“No, it’s more that Porthos is better looking.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Please, let me tell him you said that.”

“Of course. You and Athos too. Though I’m not on the pull, in case you think that’s why I’m here. Tell me about the exhibition.”

“First, you tell me why that bastard is looking at you that way. He needs a punch in the nose.”

*******************************

Athos sat on his bed and yanked his shoes off with a deep sigh of relief. “That was four hours of my life I’ll never get back again.”

D’Artagnan was similarly pleased to be rid of his footwear. “How many times did you say we have to do this shit?”

“As many times as it takes. Treville was pleased enough, though it was Anne and Aramis who had the most success. You did well.”

“It was horrible,” his friend said. “Although it was nice to talk to Sylvie again. I like her a lot. And she fancies you, she said.”

Athos blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” D’Artagnan carefully hung up the trousers he’d just removed, and then the jacket over them.

“She’s young enough to be my daughter.”

“She’s not. She’s the same age as me.”

“Still a baby,” Athos said, and was hit in the face with a pair of dirty dress socks. “Brat.”

“Don’t be rude then.” D’Artagnan tossed him one of the complimentary bath robes. “I really hope it was worth it.”

“It was. I hate it as much as you and Porthos combined.”

“Can’t we—?”

“No. We can’t. We all have to pull our weight.”

“I suppose,” d’Artagnan said with a slightly comical pout. “You want the bathroom first?”

Athos waved him away, and began to take off his suit. His phone rang. He didn’t recognise the number. “Hello?”

“Athos? It’s Sylvie. I’m sorry....” Her voice trailed off.

This wasn’t a social call—she sounded as if she was crying. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

“Someone...my cat. Someone killed my cat and...put it through my door.”

“Good God. I’m so—”

“Athos, he was an indoor cat. Someone had to get in to...catch him.”

“Call the police.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I called...it’s just I was so...he was only a kitten really.”

“Where are you, dear?”

She sniffed. “In my apartment.”

“Are you sure there’s no one else there?”

“I didn’t...the door was locked!”

“Go to a neighbour and call the police. I’m coming over. Text me the address.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Just get out. Now.”

He stripped and quickly dressed in his street clothes, before banging on the bathroom door. The shower cut off. “What?”

“I have to go to Sylvie’s. Someone broke in to her apartment. I’ll call you when I’m in the taxi.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Athos thought, then said, “No. Not yet. I’ll call you. Let Aramis and Porthos know.”

“Understood.”

The doorman of the hotel hailed a taxi and Athos told the driver to go as fast as he could to Sylvie’s apartment in the nineteenth arrondissement. He rang Sylvie back. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“In number five. The police are on their way. Athos, you don’t have to—”

“I am anyway. Just stay in your neighbour’s apartment unless the police are there.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Then he called d’Artagnan to tell him what had happened. “Someone broke in to do that? Jesus.”

“Yes. She can’t stay there tonight. I’ll bring her back to the hotel unless she has somewhere else to stay.”

“Yes, do that. When she said she got abuse, I had no idea it was this bad.”

“Sounds like an escalation. It’s definitely had an effort on her, poor kid.”

“I want to help her, Athos.”

“Same here. I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to her and the police.”

“Good hunting.”

The ride took twenty minutes. He bounded up the stairs of the apartment building once the front door was unlocked, and the door of number five was open when he got there, an older woman guarding it. “The police had just arrived, _monsieur_. They’re talking to Sylvie.”

“Good, thank you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Olivier d’Athos. Athos.”

“I’m Clementine. Please come in. Such an awful thing to happen.”

Sylvie, still in the frock she'd worn to the soirée, was talking to two uniformed police officers, who turned to him as he walked into the living room. “I’m a friend of Sylvie’s,” he told them. “She called me. I’m also a security consultant.”

“Do you know anything about this break in?”

“Only what she told me. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Sylvie gave him a watery, grateful smile. The officers were almost finished taking her statement. “ _Mademoiselle_ Boden, it would be best if you could stay somewhere else this evening, and until the locks are changed. Do you have somewhere?”

“I’d ask you to stay here, dear, but we don’t have a spare bed,” Clementine said.

“She can come back with me,” Athos said. “My friends and I are staying in Paris overnight in a hotel, and she can stay with us, and come back to my house if she needs to. Is that all right, Sylvie?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“You aren’t. Officers, can she collect her things?”

“Yes. Follow us, please.”

The dead cat was on the floor, the tips of its ears poking out of a padded envelope. Sylvie skirted wide around it and ran to her bedroom, the female officer going with her. “Do you know her well?” the male officer asked.

“Not that well. But she called me for help, and here I am. How long before you can fingerprint and so on?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest. Given the nature of the crime, we will want to check nothing else was done of a malicious nature, such as adulterating food stuffs and the like. She should not return until the locks have been changed, and preferably, not alone until the perpetrator has been caught.”

Athos looked at the grisly item on the floor. “Nasty stuff.”

“Unusually so. She has ruled out a past romantic partner, so we will focus on her work. She receives a lot of threats, she says.”

“Yes, she told me. If she’d interrupted this person....”

The officer nodded. “Yes, it could have been much worse.”

Athos shuddered to think. He called the hotel where they were staying and requested a third room to be added to their booking. One was available on the same floor, though not next to either of the ones they already had. She should be safe enough for that night. “Was the lock picked?”

“We don’t know. To me, it looked as if someone had a key, but our forensics people will check, of course.”

Athos briefly considered whether it was possible Sylvie had done all this herself for attention, but looking at the cat, he dismissed that idea. No one sane would kill a beloved pet just to make themselves look like a victim.

“Someone else with a key shouldn’t be too hard to track down.”

“One would hope not, _monsieur_.”

Sylvie and the other officer returned quickly. “Will someone...uh...deal with Hubert? My cat?” Sylvie asked in a small voice. She had gone pale again.

“Yes, _mademoiselle_ ,” the female officer said. “Go with your friend, and someone will call you to let you know when you can arrange a locksmith.”

Sylvie nodded and looked at Athos. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching out for the overnight bag she held.

She came to his side, and he felt her trembling even though only her clothes were in contact with him. He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the door, avoiding the cat.

She shook hard as they walked downstairs, so he decided not to talk about it until she was ready. It took a couple of minutes before a taxi passed he could hail, and she said nothing as they waited.

Once safely in the back seat, he said, “I’ve booked you a room for tonight, and you can stay longer if you want. Or you can come back to Pinon with us until you make other arrangements.”

“Pinon?”

“About an hour by train out of Paris. I have spare bedrooms.”

“Right.”

She wouldn’t look at him, and stared at her knees the entire trip, trembling and biting her lip. Only when they arrived at the hotel and they walked into the foyer, did she speak again. “I named him after Papa.”

“Your cat?”

“I got him after Papa died. He was so little.” She began to shake.

He stopped walking and hugged her. “It’ll be all right, my dear.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll find out. Come on.”

She filled out her personal information and he signed for her, then took her up in the elevator. He called d’Artagnan. “We’re back. She’s in room 332. Do you want to meet us there?”

“Of course.”

D’Artagnan was outside the room when Athos and Sylvie arrived. He took her into a hug immediately. "I don’t need to ask if you’re all right. I can tell you’re not."

Athos opened the door and let them in, putting her bags on the luggage stand. "We're in 310, Aramis and Porthos are in 312." He wrote the information down on the complimentary note pad. "You have my number. You call me if you need _anything,_ okay?"

"Thank you. God, you've been so kind. I didn’t know what to do. I just went into shock."

"Whoever did it, wanted that. It was vicious, quite excessively so. Will you be all right on your own?"

She nodded. "Yes. You've done more than anyone could have asked."

"It’s no trouble. One of us can stay if you need."

"No. You go to bed."

"Breakfast is included. Let us know when you’re up, and we'll go downstairs with you."

D’Artagnan gave her one more hug, then stood. "Sleep well."

As they walked back to their room, d’Artagnan said, "Bad, was it?"

"Someone, possibly with a key, broke in, killed her kitten, stuffed it in an envelope, and forced it through her mail slot. The police said it was unusually nasty."

"Really personal too." He opened their room door and let Athos in. "Suspects?"

"No names mentioned, but she makes enemies through her job." Athos started to undress.

"Saw one tonight. Someone called Marcheaux?"

"Oh, him. I had the dubious honour of seeing him in action. He's a bastard."

"Enough of one to do that?"

Athos paused as he undid his bootlaces. "I’ve learned there isn't much humans won’t do to each other with the right motivation. But we don't know why someone wanted her rattled."

"No note?"

"None mentioned. She can’t go back until the police have finished, and her locks are changed. I've offered for her to come to Pinon. She hasn’t had time to make plans."

"Suppose not. Will she be all right? On her own?"

"She knows where we are. She's tough. She'll survive."

"Yeah." He laughed a little. "And I thought the worst thing about tonight was going to be smiling for hours on end."

Athos chuckled. "Me too. If Aramis knocks on that door at six am, I’ll break his arm." Their team mate was, annoyingly, a morning person, and liked to get them moving early along with him. Porthos had had no affect on this vile habit.

"I warned him. I’ll help you beat him up if he ignores it."

"Good. Bathroom?"

"All yours."

Athos turned all the lights off save the one over his bed. Despite his words to d’Artagnan, he worried about Sylvie on her own. But she said she was fine, so he had to believe her.

When he returned to the room, turned off the light, and slid under the blankets, he thought d’Artagnan was asleep, but he wasn’t.

“Athos?”

“Yes?”

“I want to catch this bastard.”

Athos could have said, “Leave it to the police.” He could have said, “it’s not our problem.” But he didn’t.

“So do I. We’ll talk to her in the morning.”

“Good. ‘Night.”

“Good night.”

*******************************

A lack of irritatingly cheerful Aramis at their door meant d’Artagnan managed to sleep in all the way to seven thirty. Athos was still asleep as he crept to the bathroom for a quick shower, but when he emerged, Athos was looking at his phone. “Sylvie’s awake and ready for breakfast.”

“I’ll fetch her and take her downstairs. See you down there.”

Athos grunted and rolled over. He’d be up soon, d’Artagnan knew, but he wasn’t a morning person by any means.

Sylvie checked him through the peephole before opening the door. She looked tired and sad.

“Hi,” he said. “Athos is coming. Want to come down with me?”

She nodded, and stepped out. “How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Not too well.”

“Not surprising.”

He knocked on Aramis and Porthos's door, but there was no answer. They were either out or at breakfast.

The latter, he discovered, when they went downstairs. Aramis stood when they came over to their table, and hugged Sylvie, which she seemed to appreciate.

“Sorry to hear about all this,” Porthos said.

“Me too,” she said.

The waiter came over to offer coffee and hot chocolate, and d’Artagnan fetched some pastries and toast. “Athos is on his way,” he told them.

“What’s happening about Sylvie’s situation?” Aramis wanted to know, so he told them.

Porthos frowned. “People who hurt animals deserve a right kicking.”

“People who hurt animals don’t tend to stop at animals,” Aramis said.

“This is a step up from abusive emails,” d’Artagnan said to her. “He needs to be caught.”

“He?” Aramis said. “You know who it is?”

“No. Just the balance of probabilities. Sylvie, who hates you enough to do something like this?”

She had a piece of toast in her hands, but she was shredding it, rather than eating it. “No one. No one I know.”

“What about Marcheaux?”

“Oh, him. He’s just a bully. If he’d done it, he’d have left a note to make sure I got the message. That lot aren’t exactly subtle.” She hung her head. “I don’t know anyone who could kill a kitten.”

D’Artagnan frowned at his friends over her head. They all knew people who could. But they moved in very different spheres to a harmless journalist.

“Good morning.” Athos had walked over to their table while they were talking, and now pulled up a chair. “Sylvie? How are...oh.”

“I’m afraid we’ve been less than tactful,” Aramis said.

“Let her eat her breakfast at the very least. It was a shit of a night.”

She gave him a half-smile. “I’ll just get some yoghurt,” she said, and made her escape.

Athos grabbed a pastry, and motioned the waiter over for coffee. “I thought we were _all_ going to talk to her,” he said to d’Artagnan.

“Yeah, sorry. She says she doesn’t know anyone who could do this.”

“She’s wrong, obviously. But teasing out who it could be will take time. First thing I want to know is whether the villain had a key or if they picked the lock. Then I want to know if there was any CCTV.”

“Won’t the police investigate this?” Aramis asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. To them it’s a minor crime, and they’re busy. We four are unemployed experts, and we like her. So I’m inclined to give it more attention, unless anyone objects.”

“Have you asked her?” D’Artagnan glanced over to where Sylvie was serving herself at the breakfast buffet.

“Not yet. Just gathering opinions.”

“We can’t offer to help and drop it if we get a contract,” d’Artagnan pointed out.

“No. We treat this like a proper job or we don’t do it at all.”

“Agreed,” d’Artagnan said promptly. Porthos nodded. Aramis stroked his beard thoughtfully. “What?”

“None of us are detectives.”

“We’re supposed to be security experts,” d’Artagnan hissed quietly.

“Not the same thing, my friend. But I agree to help, however we can.”

Sylvie returned just then, so d’Artagnan said no more. “Don’t all go quiet on me,” she said with an attempt at a smile.

“Eat your breakfast, dear,” Athos said with a more genuine grin. “And then you can tell us your plans for today.”

“I have an article to write, so I was going to stay at home and do that. Athos, I know you said I could come to your place, but that’s an imposition.”

“It’s not. I have a housekeeper and her husband takes care of the gardening and property maintenance. The room’s standing empty, and we have excellent Wi-Fi. But it’s up to you, of course.”

“We don’t know how long the police will take. And even when they’re done, I might not be able to...you know.”

“I understand. We all agree we want to help you go back in safety, which means finding out who did this. The police will do what they can, but if they can’t identity who it is from fingerprints, I suspect the investigation will not be a priority. You said you thought someone was following you.”

D’Artagnan sat up. “I didn’t know that.”

Sylvie shrugged. “I don’t have any proof. Just a feeling.”

“Trust your instincts,” Porthos said. “You don’t strike me as a fearful person.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re probably right,” Athos said. “There’s a few things we can do. Install covert cameras. Have us on a rotation to stay over at your place. Observe you walking home, see if you really are being followed. That kind of thing.”

“But your job—”

“Is this. We’re being paid anyway, so I’d like to do this.”

“I can’t afford—”

“We won’t charge,” d’Artagnan said, glancing at Athos. Obviously his friend didn’t want to let her know _how_ they were being paid, but he knew Athos wasn’t expecting her to cover the cost of this.

“With any luck, we’ll sort it out quickly. Oh, and d’Artagnan is our tech genius. He can make damn sure your new locks are safer than the old ones.”

“If you’re sure, thank you.”

“Who had copies of your keys?” Athos asked.

“No one,” she said. “The building manager, of course, and Papa. But no one else since Papa died.”

“No friend in case of trouble, or to feed your cat?” Aramis asked, which made her wince.

“It hadn’t come up,” she said in a low voice. “Now it won’t, will it?”

D’Artagnan put his hand on her arm. He could all too easily imagine how much losing her pet had hurt after her father’s death so recently. “You said you received abuse. In writing?”

“Yes. _Nous Résistons_ shares an office with a charity working for immigrant women, use it for mail and messages. I get emails, and also a lot of paper letters.”

“Do you keep them?” Athos asked.

“Yes. And the emails. I suppose in the back of my mind, I’ve always thought things might get more intense.”

“You told me people confront you in person,” d’Artagnan said. “Anyone you recognise? Anyone you think might get physical?”

She frowned in thought. “Honestly, no one.”

“What attracts the most hostility?” Aramis asked. “Your group or your writing?”

“Oh, my journalism by far. People just write to our office because they know I’m associated with it.”

“And you think you’ve been followed from there?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Not just there,” she said slowly. “I mean, if I really am. I’ve felt someone behind me coming back from the Métro, even going out in the evening. Which makes no sense. No one would be keeping that close an eye on me.”

“Someone knew you were out last night,” Athos said.

“Unless they didn’t, and they took it out on my cat because I wasn’t home.” She shivered.

“Less likely,” Athos said, though he gave d’Artagnan a thoughtful look. “Have you enough clothes for a couple of days?”

“If I can wash a couple of things out, yes.”

“Then, if you have no better offer, you can come back with us this morning. Is your office far from here? We need to look at those letters.”

“No, it’s not, but the police wanted to see them too.”

“Then we’ll photograph them. Aramis, Porthos, you head on home with our stuff and Sylvie’s bag after breakfast, and d’Artagnan and I will follow once we’ve done that.”

“Understood.”

Sylvie seemed a little more cheerful after that, finishing her yoghurt and fruit, and drinking another cup of coffee while Athos had his own meal. Aramis offered to go with her back to her room to collect her bag, while d’Artagnan and Athos went back to their own room to pack.

“What will you tell Treville if we get a contract?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I’ll keep one of us assigned to her regardless. Don’t worry, Charles.”

“Do you think it’s possible that someone was hoping she’d be home?”

Athos zipped up his suit bag and sat on the bed. “Yes, unfortunately, though don’t say that to her. Which might mean we’re looking at a common or garden variety sex offender, if it weren’t for the fact of how they entered the apartment in the first place. And why she was targeted at all. I might even rope Anne in on this one, if she’s willing.”

“Why?” They didn’t need his damn ex involved.

“A woman tailing another woman might be less conspicuous. Also, she knew a surprising amount about Marcheaux and his backers. She might be able to tell me if he’s the kind of person to do this.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Athos looked up at him from under his eyebrows. “You need to get over your resentment of her. She’s going to be working with us. If I can forgive her, you lot should be able to.”

“She’s just...arrogant.”

“Yes? So?”

“And a bitch.”

“And I’m a bad-tempered drunk with a tendency to bark orders.”

“Yeah, but I trust you at my back. Her, not so much.”

“Okay. But at some point, you’ll have to trust her. You may as well start now.”

D’Artagnan stuck his jaw out. “Maybe.”

Athos sighed. “Try harder. Take the bags to Porthos, please, and then find Sylvie. I’ll meet you in Reception.”

D’Artagnan did as he was told, but he couldn’t shake the sour feeling about Athos calling on Anne. If it helped Sylvie, he’d be grateful, but a good friend would never want Athos back the way he was. And he worried about Anne getting her stain on Sylvie. He would never allow that to happen, no matter what Athos said.

*******************************

Sylvie didn’t say anything about what had happened the night before, to the nice women in the office her pressure group shared. She greeted them cheerfully, introduced Athos and d’Artagnan as friends, and extracted three folders of correspondence from a locked filing cabinet without explaining herself. “Is the meeting room free?”

“Until one o’clock,” one of the women said.

“Then I’ll nab it, if that’s okay. We won’t be long.”

She took them to a plain room with a long table and plastic chairs. “We can spread out here. I’m afraid there’s a lot of them.” She put the folders on the table. “At least three hundred at last count.”

“Bloody hell,” d’Artagnan muttered.

“Are they sorted in any fashion?” Athos asked.

“Only by date. Some of them are a bit...graphic.”

Athos passed a folder to d’Artagnan. “Start photographing, keep them in order, one shot per page, please.”

D’Artagnan set to work. Athos opened the second folder. The very first one promised to rape and torture Sylvie in highly unpleasant ways, and Athos’s first thought was that he didn’t want Anne to see any of this. “What about the emails?”

“On my laptop.”

“You can print those out at my house. The police will want all of that. Voice mails?”

“A couple. I have them on my laptop too.”

“Good. Well, you better start snapping as well. How far do these go back?”

“Two years or so.”

“And what about any unpleasantness from your group members?”

“You want those? They’re nothing like as graphic as these. It’s just sexist grumbling.”

“Let’s have it all, Sylvie.”

“I’ll fetch them.”

When she left the room, d’Artagnan looked over at Athos. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Why aren’t the police doing anything about it?”

“Look at the volume. Now consider how many times these have been acted upon. The police are too busy to follow them all up, and threatened violence against women is traditionally considered only a problem when someone is killed.”

D’Artagnan made a horrified face. “They’re sick.”

“Too easy to say that. I knew a colonel who was as polite and professional as you could want, who was caught sending foul and threatening letters to a female officer. Easily as bad as any of these. He wasn’t crazy, just outraged by a woman who’d slighted him.”

“And we come back to that Marcheaux fellow. The way he looked at Sylvie last night.”

“I know. Trust me, he’s on my list of suspects. Anyway, let’s get on. Then we can look at them at home and see if there’s anyone who stands out.”

It took them about half an hour to photograph all the letters and the other material. “Should I take them to the police now?” Sylvie wondered.

“Wait until they ask,” Athos said. “They may have fingerprints to work on, and it would help them if we indexed these and knew who sent what and when.”

“I should have done that already, but just keeping them was hard enough. My first instinct was to trash them.”

“I don’t blame you. But since you didn’t, we should extract what we can. Take them with you,” he suggested. “If the police ask for them, you can give them over straight away.”

“Good idea. I’ll ask if anyone has a plastic bag.”

She found one and as she was putting the folder in it, Athos asked, “What papers do you keep in your apartment?”

“Papers? Only Papa’s. All his files, research, his books and so on. I left them in his bedroom. I haven’t the heart to go through them yet.”

“Are you sure nothing was taken from the apartment?”

“I didn’t look, Athos. I opened that envelope and just...lost it.”

D’Artagnan put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself,” he murmured.

“No," Athos agreed. "It’s something to check later.”

They arrived back at the house before noon, where Isabelle had already set up one of the spare bedrooms for Sylvie. Aramis gave her the Wi-Fi password, and Athos encouraged her to take some time to settle in, do some writing before lunch. “We can bring you up a tray if you don’t want to stop to have a meal with us.”

Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. “You guys are being so nice to me, I can hardly stand it.”

“Can’t have you crying,” Athos said. “Porthos? Would you take Mademoiselle Boden out back and kick her around for half an hour? Apparently we’re too kind.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Arse.”

“Yes. You’ll get used to that too. Go on, my dear. We’re all here, and you’re safe. Just make yourself at home.”

She nodded and went into her room, closing, but not locking the door.

Athos and d’Artagnan followed Aramis downstairs. “When do you want to work on the letters?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Soon as. Let’s put them on our server, then you can work on them wherever it suits you. The first thing to do is index by name, date, and, um, general kind of threat. Also, the main focus of complaint. Can I leave that that to you three for now? You can present me with a summary when you’re done.”

“Sure,” d’Artagnan said.

“I’ll be in the study. I have some phone calls to make. If you can give me the names or cards of the contacts you all made last night too, that would be good.”

There had been a message from Treville to call him when convenient, and now it was. Athos made sure the door and windows were firmly closed before he rang back. “Jean? Any luck from last night?”

“As it happens, there was. I’ve spent the morning with Pierre Ricard’s manager. He’s unhappy with his current security and he’s about to go on a speaking tour through Germany and Eastern Europe. It’s a two-team job, minimum, lasting a month, starting next Thursday.”

“Great. Uh, Jean, I should tell you what happened last night.” He explained about Sylvie and the attack on her apartment. “I’ve given my word to help her.”

“I understand that, but this is a lucrative contract which will undoubtedly lead to more work. Your team are all Russian speakers, so I need you.”

“And you’ll have us, all except d’Artagnan, and possibly, me. He’s not ready to go back to work, in my opinion. He’s still emotionally unstable—being injured set him back more than I realised. He’s getting there, but I’d like to give him a chance to work on this case, get absorbed in something outside his head, to see how he goes.”

“All right. I’ll use Anne as his replacement. But what about you? Surely you don’t both need to handle something this minor.”

“Ordinarily, no. But he needs one of us, at least for now. Give me a month, three weeks, to help him manage. You must have someone who can take my place. Cornet’s good.”

“Yes,” Treville admitted. “But he’s not you.”

“You need more than one of me anyway. Now’s the time to look for one, or promote someone. Six core personnel with local hires and coordination with the police is more than enough for one man.”

“Not in Russia.”

“Is that at the end of the tour?”

“Final ten days.”

“Okay. How about I stay in France until he’s about to go to Russia, and then I’ll fly in for the last part. D’Artagnan might join me. I’ll keep up to date with arrangements through Aramis and Porthos, and if a crisis happens, I’ll drop everything and go out. Anne is pretty experienced.”

“Yes, but she’s not you. And they don’t like her.”

“Another reason to use her. They have to get used to her. I’ve told them that. Porthos needs to suck it up. A good female operative is a lot more useful in this line of work than a bloke.”

“You’d sack him for her sake?”

Athos sighed. “It won’t come to that, I promise, Jean. So how does that sound?”

“I suppose it can work. But wrap up this Boden case, Athos. We don’t need the distraction, and I need you fully on board as much for recruitment as actual assignments.”

“Understood. I can handle interviews while working for Sylvie, I’m certain of that.”

“Then I’ll schedule them for the next two weeks.”

“Excellent. Does this mean we can skip the Saturday gala?”

“Since Anne and Aramis were the most successful, I’ll be happy if they go, and Porthos if he wants. D’Artagnan was ornamental, but he wasn’t enjoying it, and it showed.”

Athos nodded to himself. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Hmmm. All right, I’ll send you the briefing by email, and set up a meeting with his manager for Monday. _You_ have to attend that, and I suggest Aramis or Porthos comes with you.”

“Of course. Talk soon.”

He put his head outside the study door. “Aramis! Have you got a minute?”

*******************************

“You don’t want me on this assignment?” D’Artagnan was trying not to sound whiny, but God damn it, he felt whiny. They were in the back garden, eating lunch while d’Artagnan flicked through photos of letters on his tablet, and made notes on his laptop. Aramis and Porthos were still in the house, and Sylvie was working in her room.

“I want Sylvie’s case finished so you and I can both parachute in for the trickiest part,” Athos said. “And I’m hoping a builder can look at the floor while the other two are away.

D’Artagnan could see no sign of him lying, but, on the other hand, Athos never did look like he was lying. Before he could ask another question, Athos added, “Also, Treville is arranging interviews in the next two weeks, and I could seriously use you as a second opinion. Doesn’t have to be you, specifically, but since I gave my word to Sylvie, and you’re the best person to take point on her case, it all dovetails nicely.”

“So long as you’re not coddling me.”

“Coddle? I’m going to work your arse off. The good news is that Treville has decreed you and Me to be absolute shit at this meet and greet bullshit, so he’s let us off on the Saturday thing.”

“I should be insulted, but I’m just relieved.”

Athos gave him a half-smile. “Me too. Progress report?”

“We’ve looked at about two thirds, starting from most recent. Rape and choking to death are surprisingly consistent threats from about ninety percent of what we’ve looked at,” he said, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the memory of the worst of them. “Two threats to kill non-specified pets along with setting fire to whatever home she lived in.”

“Flag those.”

“Already done. As for focus of anger, it’s widely spread. Every letter seems to be provoked by a specific column, at least a dozen per week. Some columns provoke more anger than others, but nothing recent.”

“Recent as in...?”

“The last month. Um, we haven’t looked at letters without threats in them. That might be a mistake if we’re trying to gauge which article triggered this attack. She said they get threats of lawsuits, which they pass onto their advocates who work _pro bono_. We might have to examine those.” D’Artagnan frowned. “She said things had got worse since she took over _Nous Résistons_ after her father died. But most of the letters don’t seem to be connected with that.”

“Has there been an increase in intensity or volume since then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. But not about the group’s activities.” He looked up. “If it was just her journalism, why would that be?”

“Sounds as if she became much more of a threat to someone, or a bunch of someones when she took over. Ask her if there were any media profiles done, interviews, that kind of thing.”

“I will.”

Athos’s phone chirped. “Oh, she’s sent me a text. The police had processed her apartment. She’s free to return. But there’s no hurry. Perhaps we could go tomorrow to install cameras and locks. How long will it take you to source them?”

“I can pick them up tomorrow before we go in. I’ll go up now and talk to her about it.”

D’Artagnan went inside and up the stairs. He knocked on Sylvie’s door and she called for him to come in. “Hey. Got a minute?”

“Yeah. I’m at a natural break. I was thinking of sneaking downstairs for a coffee.”

“Come on, I’ll make you some. Athos is in the garden. We need to talk to you about the apartment.”

She sat at the table while he put the kettle on. “So, what’s your plan?” she asked.

“We can reinforce your locks and put cameras in, but we haven’t solved the problem of who and how from last time. If someone can replicate your keys, they can do it again, and it’s not going to help you much if they break in and hurt you, even if we catch them on camera.”

She nodded. He was impressed that she wasn’t afraid, when it was such a terrifying scenario. “Athos said something about one of you staying over.”

“Yeah, we can do that. Thing is, Aramis and Porthos start an assignment next week, and Athos and I are supposed to join them three weeks after. So, we can protect you for four weeks, but then what do we do?”

“No clues from the letters?”

“Lots of clues. No one in particular stands out though. I mean, they’re all sick fucks.”

She winced. “Yes.”

“See, what I’m thinking is maybe we have to provoke this guy to come after you again, and be ready for him. If he’s really following you, we need to work out how he knows your routine, where he’s watching for you, all that kind of thing.”

“I don’t really have a routine though. We meet every few weeks or so in person if there’s a rally or march to plan for, but actually, most of our activity is on line. I go out to meet friends, or shop, go to the library, or an exhibition.”

D’Artagnan made a face. “Makes it hard for someone to track you. When you feel like you’re being followed, is it at the same time of day? Or from the same place?”

“No. Sometimes it’s night, sometimes in the middle of the day. And from lots of places. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. How are you doing? I mean, after your cat and everything.”

The kettle clicked off and he turned to make the coffee. She didn’t answer. When he turned around, she was looking at the table. “Sylvie?”

“It’s stupid, really. But it feels a bit like when Papa died. It was only a cat.”

“He was your friend though. Greeted you when you came home at night? Kept you company?”

She nodded, still looking down. A drop of water hit the table. He went over, sat down and put his arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

She turned to him and buried her face in his shirt. “I just left his body for the police to dispose of. Like he was a bit of garbage.”

“They needed to check it out for evidence, right? It wasn’t like you could take it away or anything.”

“No. Sorry, d’Artagnan. You’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“Not right now.”

He heard a sound behind them, at the door. Athos was there with their lunch tray. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” she said, sitting up abruptly. “I’m being a crybaby.”

“You were not,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos put the tray on the counter and spotted the coffee in progress, so he went to finish the job. “I’d say you were handling things pretty well considering what happened last night. How’s the writing coming along?”

“Slow. But I can finish it tonight, unless you’d rather I went home.”

“Absolutely not,” Athos said.

“Yeah, I was just explaining that the locks are only half of it. I think we’re going to have to do some surveillance,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yes, I think so too. How do you feel about that, Sylvie?”

“Guilty. You must have better things to do.”

“Not at the moment. May I suggest that you stay here at least this weekend, we go to your apartment tomorrow and d’Artagnan can secure the place while we check if anything’s missing. Then we work out a way to follow you and perhaps flush this character out into the open? We also want to analyse the letters with your help.”

“Fine by me. So long as I can get some work done, and you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. D’Artagnan, can you bear it?”

“Oh, I can probably struggle on,” he said straight-faced. She smiled at him. “That’s better. Now, you wanted coffee.”

“I do, but I need to take it upstairs and pummel my brain into submission. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

When she left the room, Athos poured coffee out for the pair of them, and joined him at the table. “Thoughts on surveillance?”

“It’s going to be time consuming. She doesn’t have a set routine, so not only do we not know if she’s being followed for sure—”

Athos shook his head. “She is. She has to be. Someone knew her movements well enough to either expect her to be out last night. The keys are the real issue. How would you get them to make a copy?”

“The landlord,” d’Artagnan said. “Probably has a master key labelled on a hook in his office. So we should talk to him. Though the police will have, too.”

“Maybe. Another job for tomorrow. If the police have fingerprints and a description, then they will find this person quicker than we can. If not, then we need to follow her, and find who else is doing so.”

“Are you planning for one of us to stay in the apartment?”

“Maybe both of us. Saves hauling back and forth out here. If she agrees, that would work.”

“You don’t think I can handle it on my own.”

Athos frowned. “I’ll have meetings in Paris anyway, Charles. As will you. And I suspect both of us will have to follow her, switching off to avoid suspicion. If we’re not available, she should come back here to be safe. If those letters are the baseline of the aggression she faces, I think she’s in considerable danger.”

D’Artagnan had to agree. “I should get back to work on them. I’ll go see how Aramis and Porthos are doing.”

Athos put his hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “I’ll take the coffee in. You fetch your laptop.”

That little gesture lifted d’Artagnan’s mood. Athos was like a solid wall at his back when he was exhausted.

Sad that he needed it, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting Sylvie in and out of her apartment, and then to the police station, was conducted like a covert military operation, for the simple reason that there was an unknown enemy of unknown quantity out there, and Athos didn’t want her hurt on his watch.

D’Artagnan, in overalls, glasses, and ugly cap, entered her building first to begin the lock replacement. Twenty minutes later, Porthos and Sylvie walked in together. All the while, Athos and Aramis kept watch, looking for anyone a bit too interested in Sylvie’s movements, photographing everyone who came and went, or who loitered outside the building for any time at all.

When they got the signal from Porthos Sylvie was ready to leave, Aramis went ahead of them to the police station. Porthos and Sylvie left a couple of minutes later. Fifteen minutes later, d’Artagnan left, and he and Athos made their way separately, by different routes, to their pre-arranged meeting point near the train station. By then, he had changed out of the overalls, and removed the glasses and hat.

Athos ordered coffee for them. “How did it go?”

“Installation is complete, and the motion sensors and camera are broadcasting nicely. Porthos spoke to the neighbour—she’s seen no one suspicious, though she says she doesn’t pay a lot of attention to who comes and goes. He also spoke to the landlord. He said he keeps the master key on him, and the spare is locked up, then admitted he sometimes lets repairers have it to get into apartments.”

Athos shook his head. “Bloody brilliant. Good work on the camera and lock though. Was anything missing?”

“Sylvie said it looked as if someone had been through her files, and her fathers. She wasn’t sure, but she thought some correspondence of her father’s was gone. She has no proof though. She’ll let the police know.”

“Of course, the villain could have done that anytime, at their leisure, if they had a copy of the master key.”

“Yeah. Oh, and the envelope the...uh, kitten was in, wasn’t one of hers. She had none of them at hand. So, whoever it was, brought it with them. They knew what they were planning to do.”

Athos winced. “This gets creepier by the second. How is she?”

“A bit shaken up again. Porthos was good with her.”

“And how are you?”

D’Artagnan tilted his head. “Me? I’m fine. Why?”

Athos sipped his coffee. “It’s just been a bit of an unsettling week, and now, being around Sylvie and her present state.”

“You think I’m that feeble.”

“How many times have you cried this week?”

D’Artagnan flushed. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

Athos took hold of his wrist, his grip firm and warm. “Charles, look at me.” D’Artagnan forced himself to do so, and had the full power of Athos’s green, expressive eyes trained on him. “I’m not having a go. I don’t think you’re weak. I’m not in any way criticising you, or looking down on you. This is simple, friendly concern for a dear friend. What happened to Sylvie affected me. I can’t imagine it didn’t affect you. Before that, there was the disk from Ana, and the whole Paris thing. You must know me well enough by now to know I don’t make idle conversation.”

“No, you don’t.”

“So, how are you doing?”

D’Artagnan took a deep breath, grateful for Athos’s hand on him. “In a funny way, she helps. I can focus on her, not on me. Having something meaningful to do...I told you I don’t like being bored. it gives me too much time to think.”

“Ruminating, they call it. Not just thinking, overthinking.”

“Yeah. And I like her. I want to help her. It’s leading me out of myself.”

Athos let go of his wrist with a little pat. “Good. I was worried. I like her too, but I’m not having you hurt for her sake.” He sipped more of his coffee and gave d’Artagnan a small smile.

“She was telling Porthos how nice she thinks you are.”

“Poor fool.”

“Come on. You’re not that bad.” Athos lifted an eyebrow. “Some people think you’re good looking. Anne must have, at one point.”

“She thinks I’ve gone to seed.”

“She’s gay now though.”

Athos frowned in amusement. “Does that make a difference?”

“I guess? I mean, Sylvie’s straight and she thinks you’re hot. That counts more, right?”

“One, I have no idea what her sexuality is, nor do you, and two, she’s not exactly in her right mind at the moment.”

“No more than I am...not. I mean, I’m not crazy just because.”

“No, you’re not. Is this going anywhere, or is the fact a woman finds me somewhat handsome so newsworthy—”

“You should sleep with her.”

Athos set his cup down carefully. “What?”

“You should. Ask her out first, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” he said sarcastically. “It’s been so long, I’d forgotten that bit.”

“Athos, when did you last have sex?”

“With someone else?”

D’Artagnan choked. “Uh...yeah.”

“You were still in secondary school.”

“Bullshit. I was in the Army when you were still with Anne.”

“Okay, then you were a private. Corporal at most.”

“You turn everything into an age joke.”

“You’re the one making fun of my age.”

“I’m not making fun!” D’Artagnan realised his voice was a little loud. “I’m just saying...you and Sylvie. Could be good.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You do. Why not?”

“She’s too young for me.”

“She’s not. Is it this other person you’re in love with?” Athos pursed his lips and looked at d’Artagnan from under his eyebrows. “You said they were unavailable, so why are you waiting around for them?”

“The heart doesn’t work like that.”

“You don’t have to be in love with her, you know. Just...have fun. She’s pretty lonely,” he added, trying not to wheedle.

“Why don’t you ask her out then?”

“Cos— Fuck you, you know why.” He buried his face in his coffee cup.

Athos touched his wrist again. “Sorry, that was unkind. But all the same, Constance wouldn’t want you to be single. We talked about this.”

“I know. I’m just not...it’s not been a year, even. A year’s not a lot to give to the love of my life, is it?”

“Not at all. Sylvie is a lovely girl though. You seem to click.”

“As friends,” d’Artagnan said firmly.

“Fair enough.” Athos’s phone pinged, and he glanced at it. “Porthos and Sylvie are on their way. Aramis will wait another ten minutes.”

“You guys didn’t spot anyone suspicious, did you?”

“Everyone looks suspicious. It’s spotting them more than once that’ll make it worth checking out.”

“I guess. How long do you think it’ll take to flush them out?”

“Not long. Killing her cat was designed to rattle her, but it was non-specific. My guess is that the next thing or the one after will ramp it up, drive home the message, and then we’ll find out what they want. We have to let it happen, without letting her be injured. Or killed, God forbid.”

“Yeah.” D’Artagnan began to play with the sugar bowl distractedly as he contemplated how bad this might get. Athos took it away from him. “Oops, sorry.”

“Fidget,” Athos said, sighing. “You didn’t give a key to that idiot landlord, did you?”

“God no. Technically, she’s supposed to, but she’s going to ‘forget’ until this mess is over. Even then, she won’t give him the PIN until he asks, and it’ll be changed immediately after whatever has to be done, is done, as well as automatically once a week.”

“Excellent. That will be a relief to her.”

“She said it was.”

D’Artagnan thought about ordering more coffee, but then he’d had four cups this morning, and he’d be bouncing off the walls with another. Maybe tea—

“Would you mind if I, uh, asked Sylvie out?”

“Huh?” He stared at Athos. “Mind?”

“It can change friendships. I would have less time with you three. My attention during our time off would be elsewhere. None of you have had to share me, so to speak, since we became a team.”

“Jeez, Athos. You’re entitled to a private life.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking how you would feel about it.”

“Were you jealous of Constance?”

“Of course not. You were already a couple, and besides, I adored her too.”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “I like Sylvie. Unless she tried to take you away from us, I wouldn’t mind. So, are you going to?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit quick for me.”

“Yeah, I can see how it would be. Try another couple of years being single, just to be sure.”

“Brat.”

“Old fart.”

“Charming. Want another?”

“Only if it’s tea.”

“Done.”

*******************************

Porthos and Sylvie joined them shortly after their tea arrived, and Aramis arrived in time to have a second cup of coffee with Porthos. After exchanging information, such as the lack of fingerprints found by the police and the signs Sylvie had found of someone having searched the place, Porthos and Aramis went off for the weekend. They were spending two nights in a hotel, going to the gala that evening, and then enjoying themselves on Sunday. They wanted one last chance to be alone, since it looked as if _Le Palais_ was finally getting off the ground, and security work was notoriously hard on relationships. Athos enthusiastically supported the idea. The last thing he wanted was trouble between his two best friends, for any reason.

Sylvie was somewhat subdued. Hardly surprising, really. The police had accepted the indexed bundle of letters with polite thanks, but without any great enthusiasm. Athos doubted much would be done with them within a month, unless Sylvie ended up murdered.

Which he was _not_ going to allow to happen. If she had to live at his house until after this new assignment, then so be it. No woman deserved harassment, but this was something more, and he needed to know what was behind it.

“Is there anything you want to do in Paris before we leave?” he asked her.

“No, thank you. I picked up more clothes, and I’ve sent off my article, so I’m good. Porthos...uh,” she added, looking down, “cleaned the litter tray for me.”

D’Artagnan took her hand. “We’ll catch the bastard, I promise.”

Athos nodded. “Yes, we will.”

“My kitten’s the second thing I loved that someone’s murdered.”

A flash went off in Athos’s head. “When you said your father was beaten at a rally, do you mean he was targeted? Did they ever arrest anyone?”

“Yes, they think he was deliberately singled out, but no one was arrested. The police couldn’t work out who threw the punch that knocked him out, or the ones who kicked him. I don’t think they looked too hard.”

“Was anyone else there who knew your father? I mean, a friend? And who targeted him?”

“Fascists. The kind of people who Marcheaux’s lot are pandering to.”

“Was Marcheaux there?”

She frowned hard, as if in pain. “He was one of the speakers. Papa hadn’t wanted me to go. We were separated—”

“How?”

“Why do you want to know this?”

“Because you said it yourself. This is the second time you or your family have been targeted, and each time, brutally.”

“There are a lot of fascists in Paris, Athos. I mean, I’ve been beaten up too, though not like Papa.”

“Recently?”

“No. Do we have to talk about this now?”

Athos made the effort to smile, because she was becoming distressed. “No, of course not. When you’re ready, you can tell us more. If you have any correspondence or information we can look at, that would help.”

“I have emails and notes on my computer. I’ll, uh, look them up later.”

“Thank you. Now, shall we go?”

She opened up as they rode the train back. “One of our group members was near Papa when it happened, but he didn’t see it. The first he knew of it was when Papa was on the ground.”

“Would he speak to us, do you think?”

“I’m sure he would. Sorry to be wet about this. It was a terrible day, and then the month after, while Papa was failing....” She sucked in a breath. “It’s hard to think about, let alone talk about it.”

Athos was sitting next to her, so he held her hand. “No need to apologise. We don’t know the two things are related specifically, but they might be. Did you think to ask the police to follow that angle?”

“Um...I _think_ I mentioned what happened to Papa.”

“Maybe you could give them a bit of a push next week. Squeaky wheels and all that.”

She managed a smile. “Oh, I’m good at that. My whole life, I was trained to make as much noise as possible. Papa insisted on it.”

“He sounds like a great man,” d’Artagnan said.

“He was. That’s why I can’t let them win. Whoever ‘them’ is.”

After lunch, Sylvie and d’Artagnan went for a walk to make the most of the lovely weather. Athos decided to put an hour in on their gym equipment and went for a run after that. The young people were still out when he returned.

He searched for details of the attack on Hubert Boden, and read the information Sylvie had sent him. He understood the difficulty for the police. In a mêlée of that kind, it was almost impossible to know who started it, who threw what punch or made which blow, without good CCTV footage or reliable witnesses. But it was certainly suspicious that one old man managed to be the only person seriously hurt, let alone killed.

As Sylvie had said, the rally had been for a broad, unpleasant coalition of ultra-right, racist and fascist groups. Guy Marcheaux had spoken, though his speech was moderate by the standards set by other speakers. He’d caught some criticism for it—from Sylvie herself as well as other journalists, and apologised for participating, though not for the content of the speech.

Athos pulled up the list of letters they had made, and realised there was something they had overlooked. The percentage of unsigned letters, or ones with obviously fake names, had increased since just before Hubert’s death, as had the volume. The ones Hubert had received before the beating had mostly been signed with real names. Or at least, the ones not removed from his files had been.

Guy Marcheaux had joined _France Avance_ in August last year, after having previously been aligned with [_Les Républicains_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Republicans_\(France\)). The rally was one of the first big events he had attended since joining _France Avance_.

Athos did more searching. Sylvie Hubert had been two of his most vocal critics after that switch. Was someone feeling sensitive? Perhaps the Bodens had had more impact than just embarrassing him. Athos shot an email off to Anne, asking for everything she had on Marcheaux and his party.

His last task was to set up facial recognition on _Le Palais_ ’s server for all the people he and Aramis had photographed that morning. If they were photographed again, then he would know.

With all his tasks done, and having exercised, his brain was free to wander, and it did, unbidden as it too often did these days, to d’Artagnan. Athos had accepted that his feelings were not and would not be requited. He was far too used to sorrow and pain to let that disappointment drag him down. It wasn’t as if d’Artagnan had died, or hated him. They would be friends for as long as Athos kept his mouth shut. Possibly even after, although he would never do that to the lad.

But while he remained celibate, he would have to get used to matchmaking. D’Artagnan’s efforts that day weren’t the first time one of his team had tried to push him towards someone. Aramis could be quite persistent. If Athos didn’t want that to continue—and didn’t want any of them realising his true thoughts on the matter—maybe someone like Sylvie would make a good cover.

More than a good cover, of course. A very pleasant, charming companion. The tricky thing would be if she wanted more. Athos would not lead anyone on.

But if she wanted physical comfort, someone she could trust, he wouldn’t refuse. It wouldn’t be unfaithful to d’Artagnan, who would in any case be horrified if he though Athos was ‘saving’ himself for him.

He rubbed his chin. If he could be honest with d’Artagnan, and knew it would not risk their friendship or working relationship, then that would be best of all. But the real world didn’t work like that. If the situation was reversed, he knew damn well it would affect things, how he interacted with d’Artagnan. It was quite ridiculous to imagine it would not.

So honesty had to be rejected, regretfully. He’d had to see how things went. He was in no hurry to find a sexual partner. His balls had got him into enough trouble with Anne. He didn’t want to make _that_ mistake again.

Sylvie and d’Artagnan returned at five, and wanted tea and food. Isabelle was aware of the healthy appetites of all the residents, and made sure there was always a good supply of cakes, pastries and other nibbles to appease between-meal hunger. Athos had to watch his girlish figure so he restricted himself to one cookie with his tea, while the younger pair ate enough to fuel three times as many people.

“You should have come with us, Athos,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s perfect walking weather.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I had things to do.”

“Any conclusions?” Sylvie said.

“Not really,” he lied. “Let’s not talk about it again today. Where did you study, Sylvie?”

He guided the conversation onto neutral topics, and d’Artagnan enthusiastically helped. Tea slid gracefully into supper, and a couple of glasses of wine—for the others, not for him—in the living room afterwards, accompanied relaxed and enjoyable conversation for an hour or so.

When he’d finished his wine, d’Artagnan rose. “I’ve got some stuff I’d like to do in my room. Could you excuse me for tonight?”

“Sleep well,” Sylvie said.

“Good night,” Athos said, refraining from sighing. _Not exactly subtle, Charles._

“You never drink?” Sylvie said when they were alone.

“Not unless I need to, for work. For cover,” he clarified. “I’m not exactly an alcoholic, but I don’t like who I am when I drink too much. And it turns out, no one else does either. It’s just easier not to.”

She nodded, then stood, and walked over, hips swaying, to come and sit next to him on the sofa. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

She smiled. “D’Artagnan and I had a long chat about you this afternoon.”

“Ah.”

“He’s got quite a case of hero-worship.”

“Does he?”

“Oh yeah. Anyone would think he was trying to set us up.”

Athos looked at the ceiling. “Really.”

She burst out laughing. “You know.”

“We, ah, had a long chat about you this morning. He’s concerned that I might be sexually frustrated, and he thinks highly of you. To him, it’s a simple equation. Or possible a round peg and a round hole.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. So, rather than do Charles a favour because you like him, what exactly do you want, Sylvie? I’m pretty hard to offend, and I already know that you’ve, um, shared your admiration of me with several people.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Oh God.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Look at me.” She uncovered her face and turned to him. “Do you fancy me or just think I’m scenic?”

“Both.” Her voice was barely audible.

“And what would you like to do with that information?”

“Have sex with you?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She put her hand on his thigh. “Let me ask some questions. Do you fancy _me_?”

“Not at all. Intelligent, beautiful, kind women are utterly repellent to me.”

Her expression drooped at his first words, but broke into a huge grin as he finished speaking. “You arse.”

“You’ve rumbled my secret.” He covered her hand with his. “Did d’Artagnan mention that I have feelings for someone else? Someone who is never going to be available?”

“He did. It made him sad. He really wants you to be happy. It’s so sweet.”

“He is sweet. He has such a young soul. But knowing that, do you still want to sleep with me? I’m a nearly alcoholic middle-aged man who can’t give you all of his heart. And you, my dear, are special. You deserve someone just as amazing.”

“Maybe. But right now....” She snuggled closer. “A night or three with a kind, cute, good looking, experienced man who can control himself sounds...really lovely.”

He leaned in, and she kissed him. He took his time responding, because she was warm, willing, and delicious. He put his arms around her and pulled her closer. “Mmmm. Well, _Mademoiselle_ Boden, with all that laid bare between us, I’d love to take you upstairs and ravish you quite thoroughly. Do you agree?”

She rubbed her cheek against his beard. “That sounds perfect, _Monsieur_ d’Athos.”

*******************************

Sylvie was draped over him like the world’s most erotic blanket when he woke. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled the warm scent of her. God, she was lovely. And generous too. More than Anne, though that wasn’t saying a lot.

He wrapped his arms around her and was content to lie there as long as she wanted, stroking her hair and enjoying the sensation of being sated. It had been too long. He hoped she had got as much relief as he had.

After a bit she shifted and stretched, then moved her head to look at him. “Oops. Sorry, darling.”

He caught her as she tried to roll off him so he could kiss her. “Not at all. Thank you.”

“Thank you back. Not bad for an old man.”

“Damn cheek.”

She laughed and he let her escape. “Dibs on the bathroom.”

He waved her off, and lay still to wait for her return. The house was quiet. Was d’Artagnan up? He looked at his phone and found it was only seven. D’Artagnan was almost certainly still in bed. Athos had a devilish thought and considered ringing Aramis as revenge for all the times he’d woken them all up at sparrow fart, but that would wake Porthos too.

No, he would be good.

She emerged in surprisingly short order, looking bright and fresh and quite edible. “I’ll go make coffee.”

“Oh God. Marry me, woman.”

“Just buy an automated coffee machine if that’s all you need.” She bent over to kiss him. “See you downstairs.”

There were definitely worse ways to wake up.

*******************************

D’Artagnan smelled coffee and he rode the scent down the stairs, following it like a bloodhound. “Oh, you wonder,” he said, when he saw Sylvie had made it and set the table. “Where’s Athos?”

“Showering.” She gave him a satisfied smile. “He earned it.”

He smiled back, though the sudden lurch in his stomach shocked the hell out of him. Why was he surprised? He’d spent a lot of the previous day trying to make it happen. “Glad to hear it.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee and went looking for muesli and croissants. When he turned around again, she’d sat down, her own coffee in front of her. She was watching him intently. “Is there snot on my chin?” He gave it a wipe.

“No, not snot. You’re okay with Athos and me, aren’t you?”

“Of course! It’s just...a bit of shock to know it worked. He’s been celibate for a damn long time, and Aramis has had no luck at all setting him up. Just took the right woman, that’s all.” He grinned broadly, which reassured her.

“Dunno about that. Oh, I need my iPad. I’ll be back in a minute.” She ran out of the room and he heard her bounding up the stairs.

Without her watching, he could sag and examine his feelings. Now he’d find out if Athos’s fears were right or wrong. Too late now to say, ‘hang on, I don’t know if I want you to find a girlfriend’.

He did want Athos to be happy, and to d’Artagnan, being alone was no way to achieve that. He really liked Sylvie, and he was certain she would be good for Athos.

He shook his head. It was just the shock, and a change. It was all good.

Athos walked in. “All right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. So, I hear you had a _very_ good evening.”

Athos gave him an embarrassed grin. “She’s a beautiful woman. Thank you.”

“Wasn’t me, mate. Just your natural charm.”

“Unlikely. Where is she?”

“Gone to get her iPad. I think she wants to put the news up on Instagram or something.”

“Oh, God.”

D’Artagnan found it easy to laugh at his friend’s horror. Sylvie walked back in while he was still chuckling. “Athos is keen to be internet famous,” he said.

“Charles, I’ll strangle you,” Athos growled.

“What did I miss?” she said as she sat down.

“Don’t put my face on social media, please,” Athos said with a tight smile.

“I wasn’t planning to...d’Artagnan!” She wagged a finger at him. He stuck his tongue out at him.

“Children, please,” Athos said as he got up to fetch something to eat. “Sylvie, what would you like?”

“Yoghurt? Or cereal. Anything, honestly.”

“We have both.” He opened the fridge and d’Artagnan shoved the muesli packet over to her, then got up to get bowls. He nearly dropped them when Sylvie gave a loud gasp.

“What is it?” Athos said, going to her. She had her iPad on the table in front of her, and was staring at it.

Athos swung it around to look at it. “Oh, shit,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“What?” d’Artagnan asked.

Athos read from the tablet. “This time your fucking cat. Next time, your head. Give up your stupid scribbling, bitch, or we’ll stop you.”

“Jesus.”

“Yes.” Athos wiped his face, and sat down next to Sylvie. “At least now we know it’s about your journalism.”

“I-it’s...the address. It’s my private one. Not the one through the...the paper.” She hugged herself, and Athos held her tighter. “They must have found it looking through my apartment.”

“Sensible assumption,” Athos said, looking at d’Artagnan, who took the iPad away and put it on the sideboard. “You’re safe, my dear. We won’t let them get to you.” He frowned. “‘Scribblings’. That’s what that prick Marcheaux called your writing.”

“He’s not the only one.” She shivered. “I need to call the police.”

“Yes. But eat breakfast first. Half an hour or so won’t make a difference.”

She nodded. “And I was feeling so good, too,” she said, laying her head on Athos’s shoulder.

D’Artagnan was seized by a powerful resolve to keep her safe. He’d wanted to before, but now she was precious to Athos, it was even more important to protect her. He wouldn’t allow Athos to be hurt by a romantic relationship again. His friend couldn’t bear it, not twice.

Athos seemed to be determined that their Sunday not be completely dominated by the new threat. He sat with Sylvie while she called the police, and then asked her permission to allow Lucie at _Le Palais_ to look into the email and anything she could find on other email addresses used to abuse or threaten her. The three of them spent an hour planning surveillance and mapping out Sylvie’s routine for the week, so she would always be watched by one or other of them as she came and went. If both Athos and d’Artagnan were unavailable, Sylvie would stay in her apartment with the door secured, or in Pinon.

A lesser person would have bitched about the restrictions. Sylvie was an angel about it. When d’Artagnan said that, she looked at him in surprise. “But you’re helping me. How will anyone catch this bastard if I don’t cooperate?”

“Sensible people are rarer than you’d imagine,” Athos said with a smile. “Now, my friends, I’m taking you both to lunch. Aramis and Porthos are off enjoying themselves, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

Athos must have planned this, because the restaurant was packed and yet there was a table reserved. D’Artagnan called him on it. Athos only shrugged. “I was going to take you lot out anyway, and the restaurant weren’t too put out to find there would only be three, not four. If you don’t like it...,” he added with a raised eyebrow

“No, no, it’s great. Thank you.”

Athos nodded slowly. “You’re welcome.”

Sylvie watched the two of them with only a tiny smirk betraying her amusement. Getting away from the mess was good for her, and the three of them had a lively conversation and a delicious meal without the threat casting a shadow.

After Athos drove them home, and they walked back into the house, she snatched up her iPad. “I’m going to write about this. This bastard wants me cowering. I’ll show them I’m not afraid.”

“Is that a good idea?” d’Artagnan said. “You might provoke them.”

“I’m not going to hide, d’Artagnan. They won’t silence me.” She glanced at Athos, who said nothing. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Tea?” Athos asked, reaching for the kettle.

“Sure.” As d’Artagnan was by the cupboards, he fetched out mugs. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Of course. But she’s not a child. You’d be annoyed if I tried to tell you to keep quiet about something of that order.”

“I suppose. What if we don’t catch them before we have to go to Russia?”

“Then we’ll work something out. She can stay here whenever she wants. The good thing about her being provocative is that we might find out who’s behind this sooner rather than later.”

“The bad thing about it is that someone might throw acid in her face.”

Athos frowned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Athos, they killed her _cat_. In her _apartment_. It’s already worse than that. Journalists in France aren't safe.”

“She knows that. It’s her choice.”

Athos cared, he knew he did. His lack of apparent concern didn’t mean anything other than Athos hiding his real feelings the way he almost always did. D’Artagnan swallowed down his retort, and didn’t say any more about it.

But it didn’t stop him worrying.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday went smoothly. Athos expected nothing less working with d’Artagnan, but Sylvie had yet to completely prove herself. She turned out to be competent, obedient to his orders, and precise, which was all he could ask. D’Artagnan kept watch over her in the morning, photographing anyone taking the smallest interest in her, while Athos met with Treville and their new client. Aramis and Porthos met up with d’Artagnan for lunch, and Athos took over the surveillance. Sylvie went back to her apartment at six, promising to lock herself in, and Athos could go home.

Their photographs did not make any matches in the facial recognition system, but it was early days. Sylvie’s new article would be posted on Wednesday. He half hoped for a reaction, but at the same time, d’Artagnan’s fears were entirely reasonable.

Anne had sent everything she had on Marcheaux and _France Avance_. Marcheaux had risen largely on connections from a suspiciously short police career, and had garnered attention through provocative, populist rhetoric which barely distinguished him from all the other fascists running around the internet.

That evening, Aramis looked over what Anne had sent. “Pillock,” he said as he put his tablet down. “His looks are all he has going for him. That, and thoroughgoing nastiness towards anyone who’s not French or white.”

“Or male,” Athos added. “But he’s one of dozens of politicians, and only one of thousands of people who think like him in Paris alone. Just because I met him through Sylvie, doesn’t mean he’s anything to do with this.”

“But we could punch his lights out anyway, right?” Porthos said, baring his teeth in one of his scary smiles. “Just on principle?”

“That would be entirely wrong,” Athos said straight-faced. Porthos’s grin grew bigger.

He couldn’t ask Aramis and Porthos to help with Sylvie’s situation as they had a hell of a lot to do to get ready for their assignment. New clothes, new equipment, meeting with the other team and Anne to work out details of how it would work, and meeting with the client and his staff to coordinate. To Athos’s relief, Porthos hadn’t thrown a tantrum over Anne’s involvement, though his ex-wife had been warned not to push Porthos’s tolerance too far.

Treville had scheduled recruitment interviews on Thursday and Friday. Sylvie had agreed to let Athos and d’Artagnan stay over Wednesday and Thursday night, and to stay in while they attended the interviews, so long as she was able to pop out for food shopping before they went out.

Athos was careful that neither he nor d’Artagnan were seen with Sylvie around her apartment, but his friends were very quickly apprised of the fact that his long sexual abstinence had been ended. He was a little surprised that d’Artagnan had refrained from texting them with the news. He endured the teasing and congratulations without complaint, because his good fortune contrasted strongly with d’Artagnan’s situation, and he wouldn’t make light of it by pretending he wasn’t happy with the way things had gone.

He wasn’t entirely certain d’Artagnan was comfortable with the new situation. He’d caught the lad giving him some wistful glances. Athos doubted it was jealousy. Perhaps he was afraid Athos would become wrapped up in Sylvie and neglect their friendship. Athos was determined to prove him quite wrong about that.

He had a text from her on Wednesday evening, as they were on their way into Paris on the train. _Woo Hoo! Cages well rattled. My inbox just exploded._

_Good or bad messages?_

_Both. Support and abuse_

_Any repeat of the threats?_

_Oh yeah, but only what I said in the article. I changed the detail of my pet to a parrot, and no one challenged it. Not yet anyway_

_We’ll be there in an hour. Be careful who you open the door to_

_Yes, uncle xoxoxoxox_

What in God’s name did that mean?

He asked d’Artagnan, who explained. “Hugs and kisses.”

“Oh. Is there a correct way I should respond?”

“No need. You mean Anne never sent you that?”

“She isn’t a hugs and kisses kind of person.”

“Constance was. We could have entire conversations via text using emoji.”

Athos didn’t know what to say to that. He gave d’Artagnan a sympathetic look, and wished yet again that Constance had won her hard battle with cancer.

Sylvie was high on success when he arrived at her apartment, twenty minutes after d’Artagnan. “My phone has hardly stopped all day. Calls and texts, people wanting interviews. The home invasion really shocked people. I even had an email from an American newspaper, although they lost interest when they realised it wasn’t connected to terrorism.”

“Typical,” Athos said. He kissed her on the lips. “Hello.”

She indulged him, then broke apart to gave him a wide smile. “Hello.”

She wasn’t joking about the calls. All the way up to supper, when she turned it off in exasperation, she had messages on voicemail and text. “Ridiculous,” she said.

“Maybe the attention will scare the bastard off,” d’Artagnan said.

“Maybe, but then I won’t know, will I? Better to catch him definitely.”

“‘Him’?” Athos said.

“It feels like a ‘him’,” she said. He couldn’t argue with that.

Out of deference to d’Artagnan, they kept the noise down in their lovemaking, and out of deference to Athos and d’Artagnan’s early appointments the next day, they didn’t keep at it too long. When she was lying on top of him—which seemed to be her favourite position—she curled his hair around a finger and pulled it gently, as if to test its tensile strength. “When you’re with me, are you thinking of the person you love?”

“No. That would be a waste. You are too wonderful to use as a blow-up doll.”

She grinned. “But if journalism ever fails me, I could use it as a second career.”

“If journalism ever fails you, darling, I’ll find you a job with _Le Palais_. You are entirely too clever and sharp to let go out of my hands.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But journalism hasn’t failed me yet.”

“I’m not wishing it on you. Just pointing out that you have options.”

“Thank you. I’m too mouthy to work in security though.”

“Hah. It’s a shame you never met d’Artagnan’s wife. You would have made a right pair.”

“Then that is a shame.” She leant up and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, _Monsieur_ d’Athos.”

“Goodnight, _Mademoiselle_ Boden.”

They had to be at _Le Palais_ by eight-thirty for a briefing on the candidates, who would start arriving at nine, and be subjected to psychological testing, one on one as well as team interviews, and a highly specialised knowledge exam that Treville and de Foix had created. The first three took them through to lunch, whereupon Athos turned on his phone to check for messages. Aramis and Porthos had said their goodbyes the day before, and were today off to Berlin for the first stage of their client’s tour. Athos had said he would be available for advice on any last-minute hitches or emergencies.

There was nothing from his team mates, but there was a text from Sylvie. _Sorry. Got to go to work. Emergency. Don’t scold me_

“Has Sylvie messaged you?” he asked d’Artagnan.

“No, why?”

“She’s had to leave the apartment. What could be an emergency for a journalist?” He tried calling her, but it went to voicemail. He left a message, and a number where she could reach him even if he was in an interview. He tried again during a brief mid-afternoon break, and again as soon as they finished for the day.

“Do you think something’s happened to her?” d’Artagnan asked as they rushed downstairs to find a taxi to take them to her apartment.

“Yes. I’ll call the police if she’s not home when we get to her place.”

D’Artagnan got out a little way away from the apartment, while Athos went to the door. He ran up the stairs, his heart in his throat, and let himself in. To his relief—and annoyance—he found her sitting at the living room table, her head on her folded arms. “Sylvie! I thought you’d been hurt.”

She looked up at him with bleary, wet eyes. Looked like she’d been crying for some time. “No, I’m fine. Unemployed, but fine.”

“What?” He went over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Fired? Over that article?”

“No. For sexually abusing and harassing someone.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s not true. But the paper...in the current climate.” She laid her head down on her arms again. He stroked her hair. Clearly she was in no state to talk about it in depth.

He pulled out his phone. “Charles, could you possibly make a detour and buy a couple of bottles of decent red wine? You choose.”

“Is Sylvie okay?”

“She’s alive and physically unharmed. But something’s happened.”

“Shit. I’ll get the wine.”

Athos put the phone away. “Sylvie, dear, give me the bare bones at least.”

“On my iPad. Look at the emails.”

He found it under a stack of files and papers, and unlocked it. He scrolled through the emails, and quickly realised what had happened. A blog had published the account by Léon Le Borgne, a former member of _Nous Résistons_ , who claimed that Sylvie had pestered him for sex, groped him, and then badgered him with texts and calls when he had turned her down. He claimed she had tried her best to destroy his reputation.

Someone had sent the link to her employers.

“Who’s this Le Borgne?”

“He was with us until after Papa was attacked. He’s the one who was closest to my father when it happened. He left after that because he was too distressed by it all. I was very sorry for him. Athos, I never did any of what he says.”

“You don’t need to tell me. Is there any hard proof?”

“No. Just a friend who claims Léon told him about it at the time and saw some of the text messages. I’ve never met this friend.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Papa trusted him. I trusted him. Why would he do this?”

“Because he was paid to, I suspect. There’s no chance of you getting your job back?”

“I don’t know. If I could prove it was all a lie...but it’s his word against mine, and there are plenty of people out there willing to defame me and pretend I’m evil because of my politics.”

He stroked her hair again, then kissed it. “Don’t worry about it. Is there food in the house? Have you eaten?”

“Yes, and no. I didn’t feel like it.”

“Then leave that to us. I’ll get _Le Palais_ onto finding out more about this man, and what his connections are. You are _not_ to worry about money, okay?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.”

He pulled her in for a hug. “It’ll be all right. I promise it will.”

“I suppose since they didn’t have me assassinated to shut me up, that counts as a win, right?”

“Don’t, darling.”

She buried herself in his shirt and didn’t answer.

He held until there was a knock on the door. D’Artagnan walked in, saw Sylvie’s face, and wisely asked no questions. He went over and gave her a hug which, by the look on her face, was very welcome.

“I’ll explain over dinner,” Athos said, and his friend nodded.

Athos let d’Artagnan take over the food while he fed Sylvie wine until she could look at him without crying. She ate in silence while he explained to d’Artagnan what had happened. “Has to be a put up job,” d’Artagnan declared without hesitation.

“Indeed. The question is, who put him up to it? The why is pretty obvious.”

“But I’m a nobody,” she dropped into the quiet as the two men contemplated what had been said. “There are much more important journalists than me.”

“You showed the reason yourself. An attack on a journalist in France is news. Destroying your reputation sends a message to other women—other journalists—just as killing your pet did. It’s intimidation. I’m sure they were delighted you decided to go public.”

“Athos, I had to—”

“Of course, you did,” he said, patting her hand. “They’d have kept pushing until you finally did write it up.”

“So, is this it? They got what they wanted, so they’ll back off? My career’s in ruins, my cat’s dead, but now I’m safe?”

“Charles? Your thoughts?”

D’Artagnan blinked. “Um, I think she might be. I was afraid they would retaliate for you writing it, but if it’s what they wanted, the trigger they were looking for, then yeah. What else is there to gain?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Athos said.

“Then you can go back to Pinon, I suppose.”

“Do you want us to?”

She nodded, looked down at the table, then shook her head.

“That’s what I thought.” Athos reached over and touched her hand. “Come back to Pinon with us for a few days. We’ll stay tonight and go back tomorrow.”

“But you can join your friends on this assignment now?”

“No need. I’m needed here, as is d’Artagnan. We’ll fly out as planned, okay? And as I said, if you want it, I’ll snap you up for _Le Palais_. God knows we could do with another brain,” he said, glancing at d’Artagnan. The day had proved how threadbare their support staffing was. A researcher like Sylvie would be wonderful.

“Can I let you know?”

“Of course. Now, no more about it. This is very good, d’Artagnan.”

“My mother’s recipe,” he answered. Sylvie gave him a small smile at that. Athos didn’t know why, but he was glad of the smile.


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you serious about hiring her?” d’Artagnan asked Athos after they met up a little way from Sylvie’s building.

“Of course. Why?”

“I thought you might just be trying to cheer her up, that’s all.”

“I’m surprised you think me capable of that.”

“Sorry. I think she’d be great. It’s shit that it has to be this way.”

“Yes, it is. So, I’m giving you the job of working with Lucie to find out all you can about Léon Le Borgne. There’s a photo on the blog post that started it all. I want to know how much he weighed at birth, how long his penis is, and who he votes for.”

D’Artagnan chuckled. “You’re mean when you’re angry, Athos.”

“And don’t you forget it. I don’t like people who kill animals, I don’t like bullies, and I don’t like people trying to silence a hard-working journalist and activist.”

“And people hurting your girlfriend.”

“What? Oh, that too. We should be done by lunch, and then you’ll be free. I’ll have to talk to Treville and de Foix about the candidates, but you can crack on.”

“Aye aye, my captain.”

Athos cuffed him lightly alongside his head. “Behave. This is serious.”

“I know.”

Treville greeted them at the office. “Athos, that friend of yours is in the news again.”

“Yes, I know. It’s all a lie, I hope you realise.”

“I assumed so, but we will have to do a thorough background check on her if you’re serious about employing her.”

“I am, and we will. I’m also going to dig into the accuser’s life. This is undoubtedly tied to the previous incidents.”

Treville just grunted. “Right, well, come on through.”

At their mid-morning break, Athos turned to d’Artagnan and murmured, “When you check out Le Borgne, make sure you also check the ‘friend’ who supported him. And check Sylvie while you’re at it.”

“You don’t think—”

“No, I don’t. But it’s what we would do in any other situation, so we do it now.”

“Understood.”

Treville took them to lunch, and demanded the full story of what was going on with Sylvie, which Athos gave without reservation. Treville nodded when he was done. “I think you’re right about it all being a scheme by someone to silence her, although there’s an outside chance she’s the one orchestrating it, or that the home invasion and the abuse allegations are unconnected.”

“We’re taking those possibilities into account,” Athos said. “I want to ask Ninon if she’ll take on Sylvie’s case for a defamation suit. At my expense, of course.”

“Sue? Do you think that’s wise?”

“She would almost certainly win, and it would give us the right to ask for evidence and documentation, not just about the abuse, but about the accuser too. If they can’t or won’t provide it, a forced retraction could help rebuild her reputation.”

“It will make her a target again,” d’Artagnan said.

“No more than she is now. So, could you ask Ninon to give me a call, Jean?”

“Of course.”

D’Artagnan had a brief chance to ask Athos the question before he disappeared back into meetings. “Who’s Ninon?”

Athos smiled. “Possibly the best lawyer in Paris. And Treville’s lover.”

“I can’t see him having sex at all.”

“For which he’s certainly grateful. Run along and dig up dirt.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucie waved as d’Artagnan came in and settled in front of a terminal. “Background checks on a candidate?”

“No, villains this time.”

“Oooh, I like those. Need a hand?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“A bit, but I could do with a change of pace.”

“Okay, then, could you find what you can on Sylvie Boden, daughter of Hubert Boden who died last year. She’s a friend and it might be better if you do it.”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, and we know about the blow-up yesterday. You’ll see what I mean when you find it.”

“Okay.”

D’Artagnan got stuck in on Léon Le Borgne. Very quickly he discovered the man was a former soldier and police officer. He remembered that Guy Marcheaux was a former cop, so he dug further. “Bullseye.”

“What?” She looked up over her monitor at him.

“A suspicious connection.”

“Oh, good.”

“It is.” He quickly looked up the so-called witness, André Sabatier. Another cop. So Le Borgne had worked with Marcheaux when the latter had been a police officer, and Sabatier had worked with Le Borgne on the force—right up until he had quit to go work for _France Avance_. A little more searching revealed Sabatier was Marcheaux’s assistant.

“Jesus, that’s blatant.”

“D’Artagnan?” Lucie asked.

“You found the mess yesterday?”

“About her harassing some bloke.”

“Léon Le Borgne. Who worked with André Sabatier, the guy who claimed he could verify the accusations, and with Guy Marcheaux when Marcheaux was a cop.”

“Guy Marcheaux?”

“This MP who has a hate on for Sylvie because she writes nasty stuff about him that’s all true.”

“Right,” Lucie said slowly. “And that’s relevant because....”

“Andre Sabatier quit the police force a year ago to work for _France Avance_. And now he works as Marcheaux’s assistant.” He pulled up a photo of Sabatier, who looked strangely familiar. He opened their facial recognition programme and fed the photo into it. Lucie couldn’t see what he was doing, but she waited patiently while he frowned at the screen. “Got him!”

“Got him how?”

“We’ve been surveilling Sylvie since the attack on her apartment. We photographed Sabatier lurking around her three times in the last week.”

“Wow. What about the other guy?”

He had just finished loading Le Borgne’s picture in the face search. No hit in the photos he and Athos had taken. “She knows him so I don’t think he’d be watching her, but get this—he was with her father when he was beaten up at a rally last year. He claimed he hadn’t seen the attack itself. What if he was the one who actually assaulted Hubert Boden?”

“God. But you don’t have any proof.”

“Not yet. Give me another five minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, clever boy.”

He grinned, elated by his success, and knowing Athos would be delighted. He whooped again at his next discovery.

“Now what?”

“Photo of Le Borgne at a _France Avance_ rally, holding an anti-immigrant poster. He’s supposed to be against all that. That’s why he was in _Nous Résistons_. He’s a total fake.”

“Not to pee on your parade, but I just found a blog post by someone quoting an email by your Sylvie which indicate that if she was ever involved in a scandal, she would stage an attack on herself to distract attention.”

D’Artagnan’s jaw dropped. “When?”

“Today.”

“No, the email.”

“Oh. That’s not stated.”

“Right. I’ll check it out.” He bit his lip, hesitating, before he picked up his phone and called Sylvie.

She picked up immediately. “Hi.”

She sounded down. He could work out why. “Hey, I heard about that post today. Who’s the author?”

“Raine Chauvet. She’s a friend of a friend of mine. I thought she liked me.”

“Did you write that email?”

“Yes, _years_ ago! It was about George Bush, and how some politicians are always able to use a crisis to escape consequences of their behaviour. It was a joke, Charles. I swear!”

“I believe you, hon. Just calm down. I’ve found some stuff which will make a difference. I need to talk to Athos, and then we’ll be home and we can tell you.”

“Good news? Because I could do with some.”

“I think so. Let me talk to him. Stay strong, Sylvie.”

“I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He hung up, wincing. Lucie was watching. “She said the email is real, but years old, and a joke. I believe her.”

“I don’t know her, but that fits with what I’ve seen. I can’t find anything on her. No criminal record, no previous scandals. A lot of crap hurled at her online, but nothing that qualifies as proof of anything bad.”

D’Artagnan expected it, but it was still a relief to know it. “Keep going. I want to know we’ve done as thorough a job as possible.”

“Understood.”

He kept researching. He was surprised that it was so easy to connect Le Borgne and Sabatier to Marcheaux, but then he did have access to specialist tools, and more importantly no one else yet had a reason to connect the attack on Sylvie to Marcheaux. He was now convinced Marcheaux or someone in his political party was behind this. It might be Sabatier himself, he supposed.

Athos walked in an hour later. “Anything?”

D’Artagnan jumped up. “Everything! I’ve got them, Athos. We can nail them.”

Athos’s slow rising delight was like drinking fine brandy, and d’Artagnan’s grin spread so wide, it almost hurt. “Tell me everything.”

So he did. Lucie had found nothing on Sylvie to shake their faith in her, and enough information to bolster their mutual admiration. But the big news was the connection between the people watching Sylvie, her accuser, and Guy Marcheaux.

“She definitely needs to sue. But we need to find a way to expose Marcheaux in the nastiest, most public way possible,” Athos said. “This is brilliant, d’Artagnan. Well done.”

He put his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder and squeezed. D’Artagnan resisted the urge to push up against the touch like a cat. _Pathetic_.

“Thank you, too, Lucie. I want her to work for us. Did you see anything to give you an opinion on her one way or the other?”

Lucie wrinkled her forehead in thought. “She writes very well. Intelligently, clearly, with enough passion to make us care. She seems to research pretty thoroughly. Her academic credentials are excellent. More than that, I can’t say. But I’m predisposed to like her.”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” Athos said, nodding. “We’re finished here, d’Artagnan, so we may as well go back to her apartment and take her home. We can come up with a plan to deal with Marcheaux then.”

D’Artagnan stood and stretched. “Are you going to hire any of those candidates?”

“The two women. Not the bloke. You were right about him.”

“Glad you agreed. I called Sylvie earlier. She’s in a state over this latest blog post.”

Athos got up. “Then let’s go and make her feel a lot better.”

When Athos let them into Sylvie’s apartment, she was waiting for them with her hands clasped and her forehead tense with anxiety and expectation. “Le Borgne is a _France Avance_ supporter who once worked with Marcheaux,” Athos said. “His friend is Marcheaux’s assistant and has been watching your apartment. We’ve got him. And you can sue the arse off all of them.”

D’Artagnan expected her to be thrilled, but her face fell. “You don’t have any proof Marcheaux’s involved, or that he’s behind the attack.”

“No, but we can prove Le Borgne faked being a member of _Nous Résistons_.”

She waved that away. “That doesn’t prove he’s a liar. It certainly doesn’t prove who’s behind the rest of it.”

“But we can sue him for defamation, Sylvie. He’ll have to prove what he claimed. And if that email of yours is old, we can prove that it’s nothing to do with this situation.”

She went to a chair and sat down. She didn’t look at them as she replied. “You don’t know what it’s like, especially for a woman in this situation. Yes, a few people might believe me. But the lie has spread all around the world, and will be gleefully repeated every time my name comes up. I’ll never work in journalism again, unless I change my name, which I won’t do, and which would only make it worse if it was discovered.”

“If you take what we found to the police,” d’Artagnan said, “they can look at bank records, see if Le Borgne was paid by Marcheaux.”

“How do you tie him to Marcheaux to get a warrant?” she asked, now staring at him. “That’s right, you can’t. Him being friends with Sabatier isn’t enough. _I_ don’t even know Marcheaux’s behind it. It could just be Le Borgne and Sabatier working on their own initiative. There won’t be any money changing hands. And with them being ex-cops, how do you know they don’t have friends among the same people investigating the break in?”

Athos came over and crouched by the chair. “We have to try.”

“Oh yes, we can try,” she said wearily. “I can sue and I can issue statements. I can do all that. But nothing will change, unless we take down Marcheaux, and you have nothing on him.”

“Then we find it,” Athos said, glancing at d’Artagnan. “We’ve only just started.”

“I know. Would you be offended if I didn’t go to Pinon with you? I’ll be safe. They’ve already ruined me, so what else would they bother with?”

Athos took her hand. “You can come to Pinon for other reasons than protection. You’re always welcome.”

“Thanks. But I think I should stay here tonight. Maybe I’ll come over on the weekend.”

“You do that.” He leant in and kissed her forehead. “Be brave.”

“Oh, I’m brave. I’m just not powerful.”

They left not long after. “She could be right,” d’Artagnan said once they were on the train. “That we can’t fix her reputation.”

“If we prove Marcheaux is behind it all, and dig up any dirt on him, it would go a long way to do that. So, did you have plans for the weekend?”

D’Artagnan managed a smile. “Now I do.”

Athos frowned in concern. “Is this too much for you? I don’t technically need your help, though I welcome it. If you’d prefer to go and do something more pleasurable—”

“I’m fine. Mood swings, you know how it is. The ups are more up, the downs are really down. I’m a bit depressed that what I found out wasn’t the magic bullet.”

“I understand. But we don’t have to spend the entire weekend on it. Let’s go for a hike somewhere, both days. We could do with the exercise.”

“I like that idea.”

“Good. Don’t let me overwhelm you with this. I like Sylvie very much, and I want to help her, but you’re my brother. You come first.”

The smile was a lot easier this time. “Same here.”

*******************************

Ninon called just before six that evening. “Jean already told me the gist of things, Athos. It sounds like a strong case. Is she going to pursue it?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a wider context to it, did Jean explain?”

“You tell me.”

So he did. “We don’t just want Le Borgne to retract, or to lose the case. We want to demonstrate it was done at someone’s bidding, and that he was a plant possibly implicated in her father’s death.”

“Hmmm. Have you taken this latest information to the police?”

“Not yet. She doesn’t entirely trust them, given the background of the people involved.”

“I’m prepared to do so for her, acting as her lawyer. That might warn them not to try any shenanigans. But she should bring her suit anyway. She only has three months, and the topic is hot right now. Announcing it means she responds while people are still paying attention. I can do some more digging on these people once the suit is filed, perfectly legally.”

“I think I love you, Ninon.”

“You only want me for my body, Athos.” He chuckled. “I’m about to go to meet Jean and friends for a drink, then dinner. Ask her to call me tomorrow, if she can, and once she authorises it, I’ll get moving.”

“Thank you, my dear. Have a lovely evening.”

“Talk later, Athos.”

He found d’Artagnan in the living room, talking to someone via chat. “Ninon says she’ll help Sylvie sue and to talk to police.”

“Great. I’m chatting to Aramis. He suggested looking into Marcheaux’s financial backer. You said he was sketchy, right?”

“Anne did, actually. That’s a good idea. Tell him thank you for me. How’s it going?”

“He’s says it’s dull.”

“Tell him he’s getting spoilt. And that we’ve recruited five more personnel, which should spread the load.

“Already did. Here, you talk to him. I’ll go start dinner.”

They swapped places, and Athos pulled the laptop over in front of him. “Let’s switch to video,” he suggested, and opened the program to do that. A few seconds later, he accepted an incoming call, and Aramis’s face appeared.

“Ah, there you are.”

“Why aren’t you working?” he said, mock severely.

“Please, master, we had to stop for the daily whipping and a bite of bread.”

Athos grinned. “Other than that, how is it?”

“Boring as shit, as Porthos says. Anne was talking about staging a kidnapping just to keep us sharp.”

 _God preserve us._ “Tell her that’s a big ‘no’ from me.”

“And he thinks that will have the tiniest effect on her decision-making. I’m sorry to hear about Sylvie’s woes. It’s a damn shame.”

“It is. But Ninon has agreed to help, and that could make a huge difference.”

“Yes, it could. How is our boy?”

Athos glanced at the door, even though he could hear d’Artagnan banging things around in the kitchen. “Up and down. It was right not to send him on this assignment, though I hadn’t expected Sylvie’s situation to get this messy. I’m trying to give him an out if he finds it all too much.”

“Good. But he’s strong, Athos. Even if you’d sent him, he wouldn’t have let us down.”

“No, he wouldn’t have. But I was worried about the effect on him.”

“At some point, he has to try, and you have to let him.”

“In Russia, I promise. Any other gossip?”

“No, no. The pregnancy test was negative again,” he added sweetly.

“What the—?” Aramis grinned. “Christ, you can be a tosser.”

“As always, but you love me anyway.”

“Sadly true. Thanks for the hint on Grimaud. Could you please ask Anne, if she has a minute when she’s not causing mayhem for shits and giggles, to let me know everything she knows about this guy? And the other bloke...Ferret, Feral, something. He was at that soirée.”

“I certainly will ask her about _Monsieur_ Ferret for you. Have a good evening, my friend.”

“You too.”

He closed the connection, and the chat screen, still shaking his head over the pregnancy joke. Aramis and Porthos hadn’t been gone forty-eight hours, and already he missed them like a lost limb. Getting back in the saddle wouldn’t be good just for d’Artagnan.

*******************************

Ninon texted Athos the following morning to say Sylvie had called her and agreed to let her help. He texted back that she should bill him for the work. She replied with one word. _Puhlease_.

Well then. He sent a text to encourage Sylvie to keep going, then closed down his laptop. “Enough for today.” It was already eleven. “Time to get out of the house.”

D’Artagnan put his arms above his head, his fingers laced, and stretched his long back. “Yeah. We’re not getting anywhere.”

Lucien Grimaud was proving a hard man to trace, though his figurehead, Philippe Achille—not Ferret, Anne had scolded him—was much easier to investigate. They had collated a mass of data on him, but had yet to analyse it properly. Athos was about ready to break out a whiteboard and start making diagrams to keep it all straight.

That could wait. It was a pleasant day, and he itched to do something physical and demanding. Since he was in the rare position of having d’Artagnan all to himself, he wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation of giving the lad something enjoyable to do, and to enjoy it with him.

He drove them to Rocroi in the [Ardennes RNP](https://www.champagne-ardenne-tourism.co.uk/what-do/visiting/natural-habitats/regional-nature-parks-champagne-ardenne), where they parked the car, and ate a sandwich, before heading towards Anchamps in the Meuse Valley.

He set a deliberately swift pace because they both needed to harden up, but d’Artagnan was easily up to it. They didn’t talk on the trail except to point out a bird or animal worth stopping to look at. Athos found it exhilarating, liberating, after more than a week shut in offices and tethered to Sylvie in one way or another. He should have asked her if she fancied a hike, he realised. Maybe when she came to stay again.

His thoughts about Sylvie kept being derailed by being with d’Artagnan. Even when Athos thought of Sylvie’s lithe brown body, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have d’Artagnan’s equally brown, even stronger body under him. Or on top of him. Astonishingly lovely though Sylvie was, d’Artagnan was easily her match in male form. Even though Athos’s other team members were incredibly handsome by any metric—and Athos considered each of them lucky bastards for having the other—d’Artagnan had an intensity, a fierceness about him which Athos found irresistible even beyond his appreciation of Porthos’s firm strength and Aramis’s sleek and slippery charm.

He had to monitor himself. He never wanted d’Artagnan to catch him staring with lust in his eyes, even though it would be too easy to lose himself just looking at the man. When they reach Anchamps and finally took their ease on a grassy riverbank, drinking water and munching energy bars, he was careful to stare at the river, not at his companion. Too long a regard of d’Artagnan’s long neck, the tiny drops of sweat trickling from his hairline down his face and throat, could send him mad with desire.

“I wish I’d done this with Constance.”

Athos didn’t know how to respond. D’Artagnan’s life would be full of such regrets, given how young Constance had been at her death, how relatively brief their marriage.

“I keep adding things to the list.”

“What list?” Athos asked, glancing at him.

“The list of things I’ll never do with her. The things I’ve done since she died.”

“Does it help, thinking of things that way?”

“No. Can’t help doing it, though.”

“Maybe you could think of it another way. Things you’ll get to tell her about when you see her again.”

“I’m not sure there’s an ‘after’, Athos. I mean, there could be. Or it could just all end when we die.”

Athos leaned towards the latter himself. But he’d never been religious, nor had his parents. He had no answer for the lad. He put his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder and rubbed it a little, in silent consolation. “One day, it won’t hurt this much.”

He kept his hand where it was, sipping water from a bottle in his other one. He knew without looking, from the tiniest trembling under his hand, from the change in his breathing, that d’Artagnan’s eyes were wet, that he would hate Athos to see it, and that he was ignoring it and not rubbing his nose or eyes because he didn’t want Athos to notice.

So he stared at the Meuse, pretending to be fascinated by the ducks and the tourists and the water, while his thoughts were all for d’Artagnan, wanting so _badly_ to hold him and comfort him and offer solace through this achingly painful grief. There was nothing he could do for the man he adored, and it was killing him inside.

They sat together in silence for more than half an hour, until d’Artagnan stood abruptly. “I need to piss,” he said, and walked off, clearly wanting to be alone for a few minutes.

Athos sighed, and got to his feet to loosen up before they had to walk back. They could take their time, and still be back before dusk. How long had it been before he’d stopped thinking about Thomas the way d’Artagnan thought about Constance? A year? Four years?

Even now he found himself thinking ‘Tommy would love this’ from time to time, though for years, it had nearly always been ‘Tommy would have loved this’. He’d known Thomas much longer than d’Artagnan had known Constance, but that didn’t really matter, he thought. It was the intensity of the love that counted, which measured the sorrow one had to suffer.

D’Artagnan walked back ten minutes later. “Sorry. Uh...it’s over there if you need it.”

“I’m fine. We could stay a little longer if you’d like?”

“No, let’s get moving.”

He set off at quite a clip and kept it up for nearly an hour until Athos called a halt by sagging dramatically against a tree. “Have some pity on the old man, lad.”

D’Artagnan bit his lip. “Sorry.”

Athos waved the apology away. “Are you running away or running to? Or just trying not to think.”

“That,” he admitted.

“Okay. I can keep up with you if that’s what you want, but you’re bloody well cooking when we get back because I’ll be soaking my blisters.”

“You have blisters? God, Athos, I’m sor—”

Athos held up a hand. “I’m joking. Charles, you know there’s nothing to be ashamed of in how you feel about Constance, don’t you? You can talk about it any time you want. I won’t find it tiresome. I know what it’s like.”

“I know, but I don’t want to bore you.”

“You won’t,” Athos said, straightening up.

“And I’m afraid...that it’s like picking at a sore. Talking about it makes it more intense, instead of letting it fade.”

“Does it work like that?”

“Sometimes. Other times talking makes it feel normal, manageable.”

“Then talk about it when it helps, and tell me you don’t want to when it doesn’t. Only you know which way it’s going. You don’t need to second-guess my reaction. If it’s anything other than ‘Okay, that’s fine’, you can kick me in the balls, because it would be wrong of me.”

D’Artagnan snorted a little. “Well, that’s plain enough. I don’t want to talk about it now though.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Let’s go. I’m serious though. You’re cooking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Athos smiled, clapped his hand on d’Artagnan shoulder, and set off without looking to see how close he was behind him. He never had to worry about that. They always had each other’s back.

*******************************

After a quiet, wet Sunday, Monday started with a bang. Sylvie sent an email to say she had connected one of the emails used to send abuse, directly to Guy Marcheaux, and another to Sabatier. “And at least twenty of them are ones that have been used by Russian bots. Some of the Twitter abuse is also driven by them.”

“Russians?” d’Artagnan said, after reading the message. “This is getting murky as fuck.”

“Yes, it is,” Athos agreed, forwarding Sylvie’s email to Treville, asking him to put it in front of anyone who might benefit from it.

She called Athos after lunch. “Wow, I want to marry Ninon and have her clever babies.”

“I’m sure something could be arranged,” Athos said, smiling. “What’s happened?”

“Everything! She took what you and I found to the police, and God, she was like a queen. I’ve never seen police be so polite to anyone. Anyway, the magistrate took it all seriously, and the police are going to interview Léon and Sabatier today.”

“Excellent. What about that friend who blogged about that email of yours?”

“Raine? Um, I was going to see her this evening.”

“We have to be in Paris tomorrow. Would you object to us coming to stay, and one of us going over with you to see this woman?”

“No, that’d be fine. I’d like that a lot. Did you, uh, have a nice weekend?”

He glanced at d’Artagnan. “I think it was good for us. You?”

“I’d have been better off in Pinon.”

“Then come back when we do. Has Ninon filed your defamation action yet?”

“No, but she’s only waiting on what the police discover. By the end of the week, I think.”

“Good. I’ll call you when we’re on the train. Are you going before or after dinner?”

“Before. About six.”

“We’ll be there an hour before then, at least.”

“See you then.”

He hung up and put his phone away. “Looks like we’re spending the night in Paris again. And the police are moving fast on what we found.”

“About time,” d’Artagnan muttered. “I asked Lucie to check Russian connections for Grimaud and Achille. Achille is up to his neck in debt with Russian developers, and Grimaud has investments all over the country as well as in Ukraine.”

“I’m astonished, truly I am,” Athos said, keep his expression blank. D’Artagnan snorted in amusement. “Please ask her to forward a summary of anything she finds to Ninon, who’ll be able to decide what goes to the police or not.”

“None of this is proof of Marcheaux being behind anything to do with Sylvie, though.”

“We have that email address.”

“Yeah, but that’s not strong enough.”

“Not yet, no. But if Grimaud is funnelling illegal donations through fake identities, or buying influence on social media with Russian money to benefit Marcheaux, the net will grow tighter. Someone like that wants to help political parties to further their own aim. _France Avance_ is new, but it’s growing, and its success is chipping away at _Front National_ ’s demographic, and at _Les Republicains_ as well.”

D’Artagnan nodded, frowning, as Athos continued. “Sylvie was one of a number of prominent bloggers and journalists asking hard questions, particularly about finance and members. They want her silenced, but they also want the others to see how easily she was taken down. We have to draw the connections between Marcheaux, the party, the money, and Russia—and Russia-friendly capitalists like Grimaud. Somewhere, there will be proof of someone in that net giving orders or making payments to hurt Sylvie.”

“I hope so. Marcheaux might cut Le Borgne and Sabatier loose though.”

“That’s why we have to prove that they didn’t benefit from attacking Sylvie, but he did. You better go pack a bag. We might be gone a couple of nights.”

“What’s happening about the floor?”

“Oh, blow the bloody floor.”

“I’ll just fetch the C-4 then.”

Athos gave him the finger. D’Artagnan grinned and went off to pack.

Sylvie greeted them like long-lost family. It had clearly been a long two days. But she was a lot brighter, and enthusiastic for the fight again, which was what Athos wanted to see.

D’Artagnan offered to go with them to her friend Raine’s place. Athos thought about it. “It might be too intimidating. I want her a little intimidated, but not so much she calls the police on us. So maybe you should stay behind for now.”

“Okay. I’ll get supper ready. I expect status reports or _I’ll_ call the police.”

“Yes, Papa,” Sylvie said sweetly, kissing his cheek.

Her friend lived a few streets over in the same arrondissement. “She won’t be expecting you,” Sylvie said.

“I’m counting on that,” Athos said.

When Raine opened the door, wariness changed to alarm when she spotted Sylvie was not alone. “This is Athos, Raine. He’s a friend of mine who’s been protecting me since the attack on my apartment.”

“Okay. Come in.”

Raine wasn’t about to offer any hospitality, and stood with arms folded, clearly ready to defend her actions. She was a blonde woman somewhat older than Sylvie. Her apartment was shabby and small, like its resident “So, I guess you know why I’m here,” Sylvie said, her voice and manner pleasant and unthreatening.

“All I did was post the email. If you were harassing Léon, it’s only fair people know the whole story.”

“I didn’t know you knew him that well.”

“Not that well. But we’re sort of friends.”

“Did you think to post it on your own?” She jumped at Athos’s question. He ignored her reaction. “Or did he ask you if you had anything that could strengthen his case?”

She moved as if fighting an impulse to flee. “He contacted me.”

“When? Before he went public?”

“Yeah. When he saw that article of yours.”

“You’ve known me for years,” Sylvie said. “Why would you think I was capable of doing something like that?”

Raine looked away. “He said you did. We’re supposed to believe the victims, aren’t we?”

“I don’t believe you, Raine.” She jerked again at Athos’s voice, and stared like a startled doe. “I think that Léon or one of his friends called you and asked if you had any dirt on Sylvie he could use. I think they offered you good money if you could help them. So you remembered an email sent ages ago, which you knew had nothing to do with him or any actual harassment, and they paid you well to go public with it.”

“I didn’t make anything up,” she said with a stubborn jut of her chin. “There ain’t no law against what I did.”

“Did you know Léon is a member of _France Avance_?” Sylvie said. Raine’s mouth opened a little. “He was a supporter before he came to us, and probably still is. His friend is the assistant to one of their MPs. He’s a plant, Raine.”

“I didn’t...he never said.”

“No, I bet he didn’t,” Athos said. “The police are investigating them for the attack on Sylvie’s apartment and killing her pet. We already know Sabatier was one of the people sending abuse to her.”

“Nothing to do with me.”

“Perhaps not. But Sylvie’s lawyer is about to file a suit for criminal defamation against him and his friend Sabatier. Since you knew that email was innocently intended, you could be sued too.”

She held up her hands. “No! I didn’t do anything wrong! Sylvie, I needed the money. I’m broke, and I owe so much.”

“How much did he pay you?” she asked.

“Two thousand euros before, and another thousand after I blogged about it.”

“That’s a lot of money to help a poor, innocent harassment victim,” Athos said. “I’m sure a judge would be completely persuaded you were nothing to do with a scheme to destroy Sylvie’s reputation. And a conviction for criminal defamation would not have any effect on your employment or reputation at all, would it?”

“I didn’t mean all this to happen! Please, Sylvie. You have to believe me.”

“I do, Raine, but I need you to help me now. I need you to make a statement of exactly what happened and how much you were paid. If you do that, I won’t include you in the suit. The police will want you to answer some questions, but so long as you had nothing to do with the break in, they won’t charge you. Do you understand?” Raine nodded almost frantically. “Okay. Could you write out what you told me, and Athos will witness your signature? My lawyer will contact you about making an affidavit.”

“You promise I won’t get into any trouble?”

“Not from me, and not from the police. So long as you’re telling the truth.”

“I am. I swear I am. I’m so sorry.”

“Just write the statement,” Athos said.

Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way back to Sylvie’s apartment. “I can’t make this public,” Sylvie said. “It would be painting a target on her back.”

“Yes. But it’ll strengthen the case against Le Borgne and Sabatier, and when Ninon files the suit, it will help that too. It will never come to court. He has nothing. He’s banking on you running away.”

“We don’t run away, us Bodens.”

He put an arm around her waist. “No, it appears not.”

The whole business collapsed like a pack of cards, so swiftly that by the time Athos and d’Artagnan were done at _Le Palais_ on Tuesday afternoon, Léon Le Borgne had been charged with burglary and animal cruelty, and Pierre Sabatier as being an accessory. Money in Le Borgne’s account to pay off Raine Chauvet had come from Phillipe Achille, and Sabatier rolled over on Marcheaux, saying he’d ordered surveillance on Sylvie, and wanted her ‘scared’, he said. A warrant for Marcheaux’s arrest had been issued. Lucien Grimaud had gone to ground, and both the police and DGSE were on his tail.

“And you, my dear, are coming back to Pinon for a couple of days to let the dust settle down,” Athos said  to Sylvie once all this information had been delivered and wondered at.

“Yes, Papa.”

“You get used to it, Sylvie,” d’Artagnan said. “Once you’re under his protection, you never escape. The thing is, he makes it so good, you never want to.”

She grinned, then looked thoughtful. Athos pretended he wasn’t even in the room.

He kept the next two days clear for d’Artagnan, so the lad could take Sylvie out to the woods and wear out their youthful energies on long walks and a little climbing. At night, Athos made love to Sylvie, and tried not to dwell on who was not in his bed. He wasn’t sure he could keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to her, and it was growing hard on him too. It was too exquisitely painful for real pleasure.

Once the charges against the conspirators hit the newspapers, Treville told him to bring Sylvie into the office for a chat. “Has she said if she’s interested?”

“Yes, she is. She thought a change of pace might be good. She’s already handed over _Nous Résistons_ to someone else to run, and even if her name is cleared, it wouldn’t do any harm to put some distance between her and this mess. She’s keeping her options open, though.”

“That’s sensible. How about Friday morning? She could meet us all and then have lunch.”

“I’ll set it up. Thanks, Jean.”

“She’ll be doing us the favour if she’s as good as you say.”

“She’s better.”

“Hmmm. Now, I need to talk to you about the next round of interviews.”

*******************************

D’Artagnan was given the task of showing Sylvie around _Le Palais_ , and introducing her to Lucie. He thought the two of them would hit it off—at least, he hoped they would—but he wasn’t expecting the electricity that sparked between them, or the look Lucie gave Sylvie. Or the look Sylvie gave her back. If one of them had been a bloke, he’d have called it desire.

Of course, it could still be desire, although he didn’t know if Lucie was bi, or that Sylvie was. It left him confused, and a little wistful. All right for some.

Sylvie chucked him under the chin when he took her into the kitchen to make coffee. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You and Lucie seem to like each other.”

“She’s gorgeous. I want to climb her like a tree.”

D’Artagnan blinked. “Oh. Um. What about Athos?”

“He can watch if he likes.” She laughed at his expression. “You didn’t think Athos and I were serious, did you?”

“I thought he was pretty taken with you.”

“There’s only one key for that lock, and I don’t own it. Is Lucie with anyone?”

“I really don’t know. Want me to ask?”

“No, I’ll suss it out. I have a thing for tall blondes.”

The conversation disturbed d’Artagnan more than he liked to admit, not because women loving other women bothered him, but because he wasn’t sure Athos was aware Sylvie felt their relationship was just a fling for fun.

He didn’t know how to bring it up. It wasn’t his business, strictly speaking, even if he had worked hard to bring them together. That made it worse as far as he was concerned. It would be _his_ fault if Athos was hurt.

Athos and Sylvie were perfectly friendly that evening at the house, and she went to his room as she had the rest of the week. D’Artagnan didn’t hear any quarrelling, or her going back to her own bed that night. Did Athos know Sylvie was eying someone else? Would he even care?

Athos shooed them out of the house on Saturday morning. “Sylvie’s going to start work for us on Monday, and you and I are about to go on a tedious assignment in Russia. Make the most of it while you can.”

“Why don’t you come too?” d’Artagnan said.

“Can’t, remember? That builder is coming to look at the floor, and with a bit of luck, he might even manage to repair it this weekend. Go, enjoy yourselves. Bring back some cake.”

“Okay.”

Because the weather was so warm, Sylvie had brought a swim suit with her in the hope of being able to use in [Orient Lake](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orient_Forest_Regional_Natural_Park), so they headed to the natural park, parked up and walked to one of the less crowded beaches around the lake. The water was a little chilly, but that meant they had fewer people to struggle through.

D’Artagnan adored swimming, but hadn’t done it outdoors since before Constance became ill. She had never come to Orient Forest with him, so the excursion wasn’t kicking up too many regrets—at least, not by his usual standards. He could let himself go, and enjoy it.

Sylvie swam as sleekly and easily as if she was half otter, her thick curly hair scraped back into a right bun, and her brown skin dipping in and out of the water like a dolphin’s. D’Artagnan watched, thinking that for all her good points, Constance had not been graceful in the same way, and swam more like a kid learning how to for the first time. She’d always said she knew how to float, and that was all she needed.

When he had swum for half an hour, d’Artagnan wanted to warm up a bit, so he went to the shore and stretched out on a towel, soaking in the sun. He was fish belly white compared to his usual summer colouring, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing much sunbathing in Russia.

“Ouch, that must have hurt.” Sylvie’s gentle finger traced lightly over the scar under his rib cage.

“Got a matching one on my back.” He rolled over and showed her.

“God, what happened?”

He rolled onto his back and looked at Sylvie through his sunglasses. “Got shot. Rescuing a French national, ambushed at the airfield as we were boarding the jet.”

“That’s what you do for a living? I thought you guys were security.”

“Now we are. We were then too, but we got involved in a mess set up by Étienne Rochefort.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ in surprise. “That traitor? You were caught up in that?”

“Oh yeah. Such a clusterfuck.”

“I only know what was in the papers, but yeah, it really was. So this is what’s kept you out of the field?”

“For four months. Now you know why Athos is such a mother hen about me.”

“One of the reasons, at least.”

“Yeah. Are you going to tell him?”

“About what?”

“That you’re interested in someone else?”

She smiled. “No need. He dumped me last night.”

D’Artagnan sat up so he could stare at her properly over the top of his glasses. “Huh? Why? You spent the night with him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. He gave me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, then I asked if he’d mind if I stayed anyway because he gives good cuddle, and he was fine with that. I told you, it wasn’t serious for either of us.”

“Damn. I was hoping.”

“I know. If he wasn’t caught up in someone else, I’d love to give it a proper go. But he is, and that’s that. I’m not heartbroken.”

“Is he okay?”

“Seems to be.”

“Did he say why he wanted to stop so soon?”

“Um, it’s private. But if you were to start sleeping with me, what would that feel like?”

He looked at the sand, imagining it. “I’d feel like you were a substitute for the woman I really wanted.”

“Exactly. He was honest about that from the start. He couldn’t turn his feelings off while we were having sex as well as he thought he could. It’s all right, d’Artagnan. I prefer honesty. We’re still friends.”

“Good. I just wish he could find someone.”

“He probably feels the same about you. But you can’t make it happen.”

“It’s such a shame. I mean, you’re great, Sylvie. Much better than his ex.”

“I would hope so,” she said with a cheeky grin. “But the other woman must be amazing. I hope I get to meet her one day.”

“Me too.” He sighed. “I guess this is why he keeps sending you off with me.”

“Oh, that’s for your benefit. He thinks we young people must be good for each other or something. I’d wring his neck if he wasn’t right.”

D’Artagnan chuckled. “Yeah, he is. I’m glad you’re going to be working with us. It feels good.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Now, since you can stop worrying about Athos’s love life and mine, can we enjoy today without guilt?”

“Yes, we can.”

Athos and Sylvie had to head into Paris early, and though d’Artagnan wasn’t needed, he tagged along because otherwise, he’d be rattling around in the house on his own. Serge would be there, but he wasn’t Athos, and besides, he was tied up with the builder finishing the work he’d started.

Sylvie had invited Athos and him to stay at her apartment that evening, and the two of them would go back Tuesday evening. By then, the builder should have finished, and they would have peace and quiet again.

“A little bird told me that Lucien Grimaud was very nearly caught yesterday,” Lucie said as they came in.

“He’s still in France?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Apparently. He’s been a very naughty boy, according to his friend Achille who’s been blabbing all weekend, hoping to avoid going to prison for life.”

“Hope he fails,” he muttered. “Right, Madame de Foix. I am at your service for the day.” He gave her a deep bow with the sweep of an imaginary hat.

“Idiot. I have some background research to do, if you want it. Sylvie will take that over, but she needs to learn all the other stuff first.”

“Hand it over.”

He had lunch with the ladies—and yeah, Lucie was definitely interested in Sylvie. He knew that look. Good luck to her, he thought.

Lucie kept him busy all afternoon as well, doing some preparation for their upcoming Russian assignment, as well as work for another new client. Athos was locked in the office with Treville and de Foix, and wasn’t seen until after five, when he staggered in and collapsed dramatically onto the edge of d’Artagnan’s desk. “I’m worn out. Take me to the old soldiers home and leave me there.”

“Can’t. You need to pay for the new bathroom floor, remember?”

Athos stood up straight and gave him a sour look. “Now I know my true place in your affections. I’m just a walking wallet.”

“Absolutely. We only love you for your money, rich boy.”

Lucie giggled and Athos raised an eyebrow. “No respect. Come on, you pair. No point in wearing out all your enthusiasm on your first day, Sylvie.”

“Is that all right, Lucie?”

“He’s your boss, not me.”

She smiled brightly at Athos. “Ooh, can I call you ‘daddy’ now?”

“You do, and you’ll be on the street in seconds, young lady. I only tolerate that kind of thing from Charles, because he doesn’t know any better.”

“Hey!” d’Artagnan said in mock indignation, although he was secretly delighted that Athos was in one of his rare silly moods. Either he was very tired, or very happy. D’Artagnan hoped it was the latter.

Sylvie asked the taxi to drop her at the market near her apartment because she needed to restock after days away, and with them staying over. “I might as well borrow the muscle while it’s available.”

“I don’t know, Charles. First I’m a wallet, now I’m a shopping basket. I’m having an identity crisis.”

“Poor Athos,” d’Artagnan said, his voice laden with syrupy sympathy. “Quick, a fainting couch and a lavender-scented handkerchief.”

“Have some celery instead,” Sylvie said, handing Athos a bunch to hold.

“No one takes me seriously now Aramis is out of the country.”

D’Artagnan opened his mouth to protest this grossly inaccurate comment, but shook his head instead. What on earth had Athos and the others been talking about all day to make him like this?

Burdened with fruit and vegetables, and wrapped packets of lamb and pork, they strolled back to Sylvie’s building, with Sylvie and Athos teasing each other at light speed. They actually seemed to get on even better now they weren’t having sex. It must have been making Athos really uncomfortable. D’Artagnan was sorry for that, but glad they’d ended things in such a friendly manner.

He was about to say something when something caught his eye. His soldier reflexes kicked in and he scanned for signs of hostiles.

There. Coming towards—

He shoved Sylvie aside. “Athos! On your left!”

*******************************

Athos heard d’Artagnan’s shout even as he dropped the goods in his hands and raised an arm against the silver object Lucien Grimaud had pointed at him. That meant the spray of liquid caught him on his jacket sleeve and on his hand, not in the face. He threw himself at the man, sending them both against a wall. He punched him hard, knocking him down, and punched him twice in the head while he lay on the ground.

Then his chest started to feel tight, and he knew what Grimaud had sprayed on him. D’Artagnan came towards him, but Athos held up a hand. “Get back! Charles, get everyone away! Nerve agent. Run.” He bent over to cough.

“Athos—“

“Now! Everyone needs to run!”

D'Artagnan turned around and shouted at the passing pedestrians.“Everyone, get out of the area now! There’s poisonous gas being released! Move, now!” His bellow had an immediate effect, sending people scattering, and Sylvie joined in, urging them to run.

Athos shrugged out his jacket while not touching the contaminated sleeve, wiping his hand on the lining although it was now pointless. How long did he have? Depended on what the poison was, but the odds weren’t good on him living to old age.

The man on the ground wasn’t moving, and still held the sprayer in his hand. Had Grimaud managed to get some of it on his own skin? Athos hoped so.

He fumbled for his phone, still in his jacket pocket, with his clean hand, then dropped the jacket on top of Grimaud. He had to get the police here to control things, stop anyone else being exposed.

Sylvie ran towards him. “Athos—”

He blinked to clear his vision, and held up his hand to keep her away. “Stop! Get back. Sylvie, don’t come near me. It’s nerve gas. Move away and call the police.”

“But you need help—”

“Call the police.” His nose was already running, and his head pounded. “Now. Tell them it’s a nerve agent, VX or sarin. Something like that. Please. And get well away from me.”

She stepped back a couple of metres, pulled out her own phone, and dialled. Athos slumped against the wall. He heard her giving clear details in a voice that only shook a little, while her eyes bored into his.

Where was d’Artagnan? He couldn’t hear him yelling any more.

He should have....

Grimaud moved. Athos kicked him in the head. Too bad if the fucker got brain damage.

“They’re coming, Athos. Hold on, darling.”

“Get away, Sylvie. Now. Please. If you breathe this, it’ll kill you. Move right back.”

She obeyed, though she continued to watch him like he was about to drop dead. Which he might be, for all he knew.

D’Artagnan ran over past Sylvie, but was careful not to come much closer than she was. “Athos? Sylvie, are the police coming?”

“Yes. Athos says not to touch him.”

“I know. Athos, how much did you get?”

“Some of it on my left hand. Definitely nerve agent. I’m already suffering symptoms.”

“Shit.” He turned. “Sylvie, we need water, now. Even milk will do. Lots of it.”

She nodded, and bolted. Athos heard sirens. “My jacket’s contaminated. Him too.”

“Okay. I think you should sit down.”

D’Artagnan approached on his right, and supported him as he slid down the wall. Athos didn’t need to tell d’Artagnan how bad this was. Athos’s face was sweaty, his nose was running, his chest was tight. He’d absorbed more than enough to kill him. “Charles, you should get away. The vapour—”

“Fuck off, Athos. I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t want you to die as well.”

“You’re not going to die, you bastard! You stay alive, soldier, or I’ll bloody kill you and all your ancestors.”

Athos managed a half-grin, but d’Artagnan wasn’t trying to be funny. The lad’s eyes were wet. “I need to tell you—“

“No. No deathbed declarations. You’re not going to die, you hear me?”

The police had arrived. D’Artagnan stood to talk to the officer who reached the first. He pointed to Grimaud. “That man sprayed this man with nerve agent. I’m ex-Special forces, I know what i'm talking about. You need to clear the area, and get SAMU here stat. Then get the hell away from both of them. This stuff is volatile.”

To his credit, the police officer didn’t hesitate. She shouted commands to the men behind her to move all civilians away from the immediate area. “SAMU’s on their way,” she told d’Artagnan.

Sylvie ran back with a litre bottle of water for him, but the officer tried to stop her. “He needs this,” Sylvie said. “To wash the stuff off.”

D’Artagnan took the bottle off her. “Thanks, now get back, stay back.”

“Charles—”

“Please, Sylvie. Officer, please, take her with you.”

As the two women moved away, D’Artagnan crouched by Athos, who put his contaminated hand on the ground away from his body. “Don’t get it on you.”

“I know the protocol, shut up.”

They really needed soap as well, but water was better than nothing. D’Artagnan rinsed his hand, shouting a warning the cops to stay away from the run off. Athos concentrated on breathing, and not showing d’Artagnan how bad it was.

He closed his eyes. “Open your eyes! Stay awake, Athos. You look at me right now.”

He obeyed, pouting at his friend. “Bully.”

“Tosser. Stay awake, damn you!”

Athos’s vision had blurred, and sweat ran into his eyes. He used his clean hand to wipe them. “You’ve done all you can.” His tongue was thick in his mouth. “Leave it to t'police.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Athos. I’m not leaving.”

“Such...a dirty mouth.”

“Open your damn eyes! Athos! Stay awake!”

“Grimaud.”

“Screw Grimaud. He’s not going anywhere.”

A siren sounded close, then stopped as the ambulance came to a halt. The police officer in charge went over to speak to the EMTs on board, presumably to warn them that they needed to protect themselves.

“They’re here. I’m...okay now.”

“Like hell. Athos, you keep looking at me.”

Athos thought he had been. “Stop yelling at me. ‘m sick.”

“Fuck off.”

“Am. ‘m dying.”

“You are not dying. You are _not_ going to die.” D’Artagnan shook him again. “You listen. You are not going to leave me. You are not going to let me be alone again. Understand?”

“Yes. Charles....” Athos wanted to tell him, but it wasn’t fair. If he died....

When he died.

He couldn’t do that to him.

“Charles, Treville...has...attorney. Power of...attorney.”

“Okay.

Tears dripped down d’Artagnan’s face. Athos went to touch his face, but his hand was suddenly too heavy to lift. “Sor...ry.”

“Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard. Open your eyes again!”

He obeyed. D’Artagnan leaned over him, his hand in Athos’s hair. “You stay alive, you hear me.” He shook Athos’s head as he spoke. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Charles...go.”

“Like hell. Eyes open, soldier! Look at me!”

“Charles.”

“I’m here, Athos. Stay with me.”

“Lo’....”

D’Artagnan kissed his hair, hugging him. “It’s okay. You don’t need to talk. Just...stay awake, okay?”

“Cha...lo’....”

It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“We need help over here!” D’Artagnan yelled towards the ambulance. “Stat!”

Two people in protective white overalls and breathing apparatus ran over. “Step away,” one of them ordered d’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan did as he was told, but his wide, red-rimmed eyes stayed on Athos. “Don’t you dare fucking die.”

_Charles._

_I love you._


	6. Chapter 6

Sylvie came to d’Artagnan’s side as he hugged himself, watching the EMTs work on Athos.

“Where did the spray land?” one of the cops closer to the EMTs yelled at him.

“Left hand, and his jacket over there,” d’Artagnan answered. “It’s in that silver pen thing.”

The cop shouted the information at the EMTs, and shortly afterwards, someone else came over in protective gear and bagged up the jacket. Yet another someone began to look at Grimaud.

Two police officers stepped in front of d’Artagnan and Sylvie. “You need to move well back now.”

“He’s my partner.”

The man’s hand went to his sidearm. “ _Monsieur_ , do as you are told.”

Sylvie tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, Charles.”

He nearly snapped at her that only Athos could call him that, but he let her lead him across the street. “They’ll look after him,” she murmured.

“He’s _my_ partner. _My_ brother. I should be there.”

“You can’t do anything. Maybe you should call Jean?”

“Who? Oh, Treville.” He pulled out his phone, but the screen was all blurry. He sniffed hard and swiped at his eyes.

Immediately, one of the cops came over. “ _Monsieur_ , you should be checked for contamination. You were with the victim.”

“I’m fine.”

But the cop insisted that he had to be checked out, and answer questions about the attack. “Call Le Palais, tell Treville!” he yelled at Sylvie as he was led over to a tent now being erected on the street.

His outer clothes and belongings were removed and bagged up. That included his phone too. “I need that. I have to call our boss.”

“Sorry, _monsieur_. It’s protocol. You’ll need to come with us.”

“But I didn’t get any of it on me.”

They were implacable. So he had to answer questions while wearing a stupid white overall, telling him the assailant was a wanted man and possible spy, that they had merely been shopping when Grimaud had sprayed Athos, that they were all innocent respectable people and had no direct connection with the man.

They insisted he had to go to hospital to be checked further. “Look, I need to stay with my partner.”

“Your friend is being cared for, _monsieur_. We’re only concerned about you at this point.”.

He wasn’t. Not while Athos was....

They’d had training in the army. He knew what nerve agents did. He knew the mortality rate. What he didn’t know was how he was going to cope if Athos....

No. Athos was immortal. It was the only possible, acceptable fact. Athos absolutely could not....

He needed to tell Aramis and Porthos.

He needed to be with Athos. Athos might....

No. No.

_No!_

*******************************

“D’Artagnan?”

He looked up at Treville’s voice, then stared down again at his clasped hands. “Hey, boss.”

“Sorry it’s taken so long to find you.”

“They took my phone and stuff.”

“Yes, I know. How are you?”

“Where’s Athos?”

“In intensive care. No one can see him yet. I’ve arranged a car to take you and Sylvie home—”

“I’m not leaving.”

“D’Artagnan, you can’t do anything here—”

He looked up. “I am not leaving,” he said firmly, gritting his teeth.

Treville bit his lip. “I appreciate this is upsetting for you—”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea.”

“I think I do, actually. Son, you really do need to leave.”

D’Artagnan stood. “Make me.”

Treville sighed. “What about Sylvie? Are you just going to let her cope with this on her own?”

“You deal with her. Athos needs me. I’m not losing someone else.”

Treville scanned his face, took in his clenched hands. “How about this? You go back to Pinon and get some clothes, an overnight bag. You can come back and stay with me tonight, or at Sylvie’s, and return in the morning. You really won’t be allowed to see him until tomorrow. No one can.”

“You don’t understand!” he shouted in Treville’s face. “I am not going to let him die alone! I’m staying here until I can see him, or he...or he dies. I’m not abandoning him!”

“All right. I’ll have someone pick up some things for you, and bring them here. Sylvie wanted to see you. Is that all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll send her in. You haven’t eaten—” D’Artagnan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get some food brought to you both. I’ll find you a phone, too.”

“Thanks.”

He sat down again and resumed staring at the floor. He just wanted to be left alone if he couldn’t see Athos, but Sylvie would be upset too. She barely knew Athos, but she had been right there so....

He heard the door open and hiss shut. “Charles?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“D’Artagnan. Sorry.” Sylvie came and sat next to him. “How are you?”

“They won’t let me see him.”

“No. Not for a while.” She put her hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off in irritation. “What’s wrong, d’Artagnan? Why are you angry with me?”

He stared at her. “Why the fuck are you even here, Sylvie? You don’t have a relationship with him any more—”

“We’re friends—”

“You’ve known him, what, two weeks? You got to make love with him and I didn’t, and you don’t even...he’s dying because of you! You don’t belong here! I’m the one who—”

He stopped, his chest heaving, her stricken face telling him how far over the line he had gone.

“The one who loves him?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No. He’s my friend, and like you said, this is my fault.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, though her mouth was set stubbornly. “Yes, you did. Grimaud was trying to kill me and got him. He saved my life. I owe it to him to wait, and to look after you.”

“I don’t need you to be here.”

“Tough. You suck it up and deal.”

He got up and walked to the other side of the small waiting room where he’d been put after he’d been given the all clear. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you were right,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I don’t have any right, except that I owe him, and I like you both very much, and I want to help. I’m gonna stay as long as you do, and support you, and if...if the worst happens, I won’t let you be alone because he was desperate to stop you being alone and sad. I know that the one thing he wanted above all else was for you to be all right, and I am going to bloody well make sure you’re okay.”

“You can’t. If he dies....” His lips trembled. “If...he dies...it won’t ever be okay again. I can’t...I can’t lose him, Sylvie. I can’t.”

He covered his face and a few seconds later her arms went around him. He put his head on her shoulder and sobbed.

_Athos...you can’t fucking leave me now. I don’t know what to do without you._

*******************************

True to his word, Treville sent food—a couple of sandwiches and fruit juice—in a little later, though Sylvie only picked at hers, and d’Artagnan couldn’t face his at all, though he did drink the juice.

He had no idea what time it had been when Treville had first come in, nor how late it was by the time Lucie de Foix turned up with a bag for him. “Treville scared I might hit him?” he asked.

“I offered to come,” she said, coming to sit next to him. “Sylvie, how are you?”

“Worried.”

“I bet. D’Artagnan, it’s one am. Jean says Athos is stable though critical, and the doctors really want you to leave. Please, darling? If you go back to Sylvie’s place, or Jean’s, or ours, you can come back in the morning.”

“I want to be here.”

“I know you do. The prognosis is cautiously optimistic, did they tell you? They’ve given him antidotes, and they think they know what the agent is, so that helps. You might even be able to see him tomorrow.”

He blinked at her, sore eyes suddenly wet again. “Yeah?”

“Yes. He’s unconscious now, drugged up to the eyeballs. Please? Jean is frantic, about you and him both. You can’t deal with whatever will happen if you’re sleep-deprived.”

On his left, Sylvie spoke. “Cha...d’Artagnan, she’s right. Please? We can be back here in fifteen minutes by taxi.”

He couldn’t resist the combined pleas of two women, so he nodded. “Sylvie, I can stay at Jean’s if you want.”

“You’re welcome at mine,” she said, touching his hand a little cautiously. He didn’t shake her off.

“Okay.”

“I have a taxi waiting,” Lucie said. “Get dressed, and I’ll take you downstairs.”

At Sylvie’s apartment, once d’Artagnan was through the door, he stopped, unable to think what he had to do next. Sylvie took him by the hand. “Sleep with me tonight. You don’t want to be alone.”

She led him to her bedroom and helped him take off his clothes and shoes. “In you go,” she said, nudging him towards the bed.

The bed smelled like sex. The pillow smelled like Athos. And when she put her arms around him, he could imagine it was Athos’s arms.

He loved Athos. He hadn’t realised it until he watched the man sitting against a wall, trying to breathe, and likely to die. How could d’Artagnan have been so blind, when his intense feelings for the man had been a background of his life for months, even if he’d called them by another name?

Had he left it too late? Would admitting the truth to Athos, be another item on his list of things he hadn’t done?

“He’ll be all right,” Sylvie murmured, holding him tighter.

But what if he wasn’t?

*******************************

When d’Artagnan woke just before nine, there were a number of texts on the borrowed phone Lucie had given him the night before. They hadn’t woken him with the alert sound, so Sylvie had to have turned them off. Sylvie wasn’t there to ask about it, though.

The last message was from her. _Out getting food, won’t be long._

He cursed. Just because Grimaud was in custody, didn’t mean she was safe. He called her. “Sylvie, come back now. There could be more of his men out there.”

“I’m nearly at the door now. See you in a minute.”

Fuck. The other messages were from Aramis, Anne—surprisingly—and Treville. He opened Treville’s first. _Athos still stable, still unconscious. Doctors suggest you don’t arrive before eleven. I will text the moment there is any news, otherwise, see you at the hospital. Hope you slept well._

He wrote back. _Understood. Yes, I did. Thank you. Sorry for being a dickhead_

Aramis sent love and prayers, and told him to call if there was any news, otherwise he and Porthos would be off duty by six that evening. D’Artagnan texted back what Treville had told him, and that he would call.

Anne’s message was short. _Tell him he can’t die. I’m not done with him_

D’Artagnan didn’t reply to that. He didn’t know whether to be amused or angry about it.

Sylvie came in, still holding a shopping bag, as he was pulling on trousers. “Sorry, I didn’t think—”

“How the hell am I supposed to explain to him I let you get killed while he was in hospital? How do I tell Aramis that you both died on my watch?”

She went still. “He hasn’t died.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m sorry. But how am I supposed to stay safe when there’s just you, and you’re needed for Athos?”

“You work for _Le Palais_ now. I’ll arrange something with Treville. We don’t know if he’s working alone, or if it was for himself or someone else. Please, until the police can tell us more, you have to stick with me or someone.”

“I will. I’ll, um, make coffee.”

“Thanks.”

He grabbed a quick shower, because it was likely to be another long day, and dressed. He came out to the kitchen where Sylvie had laid out a generous selection. “I thought since you didn’t have supper, and you’re probably back at the hospital today, you might like something more.” She didn’t look at him as she said it, and she didn’t smile.

“Sylvie, I’m sorry. I was horrible to you last night, and this morning. You’ve done nothing wrong, and you’ve been a good friend. I’m...not exactly rational about....”

“Losing someone you care about?”

He nodded. “That includes you too. What I said...you have every right to care about Athos, and to worry about him. He cares for you and considers you a close friend, even if you’re not sleeping together any more.”

“The sex was only comfort for both of us. We both knew that. Same as me putting you in my bed last night. You needed it.”

“I did, and thank you.” Her expression relaxed a little. “Um...what I told you...about my feelings—”

She stopped him. “I would never say a word. That’s entirely up to you.”

“Thanks. I mean, whatever I feel, he’s still in love with a woman I don’t know. All it’ll do is upset him if he knows.”

“I understand. Sit, eat. Jean...Treville said we should wait until eleven.”

“Yeah, he texted me too.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “Um, how are you doing?”

“I’m all right. A bit shaky. Why would Grimaud want to kill me?”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s just angry because you ruined his plan. Or he’s still trying to scare other journalists.”

“But nerve gas—”

“Nerve agent. It wasn’t a gas. Some kind of liquid. Might be sarin or VX.” He stopped at the look on her face. “Sorry.”

“I was just going to say, the Russian use it, don’t they?”

“Everyone does. Variations of it, yeah. If they can work out exactly what it is, they might be able to tell if it’s Russian, but it’s been used in Japan, Iraq, Syria, North Korea. The Brits have it stockpiled, so do the Americans, whatever they tell the public.”

She rubbed her arms. “It’s like using a cannon to kill a fly.”

“Yeah, but it’ll put the fear of God into your fellow journos. The police questioned you last night?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t suppose they’re done with it either.” She sat down and poured coffee for them both. “Come on, eat. I’m starving, and I actually had quarter of a sandwich more than you did last night.”

Food, sleep, news that wasn’t awful, and Sylvie’s kindness all worked to allow d’Artagnan feel saner than he had the night before. He was still deeply worried about Athos, but it wasn’t the agony he had felt last night, which led to him striking out at the very people who were trying to help him, and who were the most vulnerable to his attacks. He was ashamed of himself, and Constance would have torn him a new arsehole over it. If she had ever thought she could have contributed to him behaving like that to another woman, she would have left him.

He insisted on cleaning up after breakfast and changing the sheets for Sylvie. “I, um, can stay at Treville’s tonight.”

“I thought you said I needed protection.”

“Yeah...but you might want that from someone else.”

She touched his face and make him look at her. “Charl...d’Artagnan—”

“You can call me Charles. Please.”

“Okay. Charles, I don’t want someone else if you’re available. You make me feel safe.”

“I didn’t last night.”

“You get a pass on that. Just once, mind. I know what it’s like to be crazed with grief. Don’t do it again, and I’ll forgive you.”

He hugged her. “I’m sorry, and I swear I’ll never do it again.”

“Then that’s okay. Please stay.”

“I will.” He let her go. “Are you coming to the hospital?”

“Hell yes. We need to talk to the boss anyway, right?”

“Yeah.”

*******************************

The first words out of the doctor’s mouth were, “ _Monsieur_ d’Athos is doing well.”

D’Artagnan took a deep breath, and gave a small smile to Sylvie, who smiled tremulously back at him. Treville had arranged for Doctor Honoré to speak to them all at the same time, to avoid any chance of miscommunication.

“When can we see him?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Perhaps this afternoon? He is being heavily medicated, but once he is off assisted breathing, we can reduce the sedation. He will be in our care for a few more days yet, but he was lucky. The nerve agent was not pure, and he received treatment quite fast.”

“What about long-term side effects?” Treville asked.

The doctor pursed her lips. “Most patients recover completely, but there is a concern that a very few have future cardiac problems. But it’s too early to say whether he will be one of those.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Treville said. “We’ll return after lunch and see how he’s doing then.”

She smiled and left the room. “He won’t be going to Russia,” d’Artagnan said.

“Neither will you. We haven’t begun to untangle which of you was the target of the attack, let alone whether Grimaud was acting alone.”

“Surely I was the target,” Sylvie said.

“One of them, yes. But until I can talk to Athos, I can’t be sure he wasn’t also one. D’Artagnan, he came at you all on Athos’s side?”

“Yeah. I recognised him, saw something in his hand—I thought it was a knife—and shoved her out of the way. I can’t tell you if he was coming straight for Sylvie or not.” He thought back. “Athos spotted him before I yelled, and raised his arm. That’s all I know.”

Treville nodded. “So he could have been after all three of you, in revenge. If someone was still watching Sylvie’s building, they’d have seen you all come and go. Sylvie, until further notice, you’re not to go out without d’Artagnan or someone else from _Le Palais_. Or the police, if we don’t have someone available. I’ve spoken to them about it and they agree.”

“Oh, did you? I don’t get a say in this, I suppose.”

Treville winced, and d’Artagnan had to admit she had a point. “They suggested protective custody. I thought this would be better. But yet, I should have spoken to you. D’Artagnan, you also need to be careful. Damn, I wish the others weren’t on assignment.”

“I can look after myself, boss. What about Athos? He’s vulnerable while he’s stuck in here.”

“He’s under guard. I didn’t mention that last night because you were...upset.”

“Oh.” He managed a queasy smile. “A bit, yeah.” Sylvie patted his arm. “I was planning to hang around here today.”

“Of course, at least until you see him. Then you should come to the office. We have work for you, if you can bear it. You too, Sylvie, if you’re up to it.”

“I am. God knows, my life’s been on hold long enough.”

“Good. Then you come back with me now, and d’Artagnan, you return when you’ve seen him. I’ll send a message to Aramis on his status.”

“What’s happening with Grimaud?”

“Ah, yes. _Monsieur_ Grimaud is in the loving arms of the DGSE and is likely never to walk the streets again over this, let alone everything else he’s been up to. Don’t worry about him.”

“Just everyone who works for him.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Right, let’s go, Sylvie. D’Artagnan, don’t be a nuisance to the doctors.”

“No, sir.”

That left d’Artagnan with at least two hours to kill before he could feasibly ask to see Athos. He could see if his personal belongings had been released, at least. After a bit of a run around, he found the person who knew, and who could return them to him. He was handed a small paper bag.

“Your shoes and clothes have been destroyed as a precaution, unfortunately. But everything in the pockets and your phone were okay.”

“Thanks.” Shame about the clothes, but his wallet and phone were the only things he really needed. He bought a charger and cable from the hospital shop, and found a free power point to use to charge the phone.

While he waited, he had much to worry about. If Lucien Grimaud was working for the Russians and they’d ordered the hit on Sylvie, possibly on him and Athos as well, then the three of them would be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. The Russians held grudges.

Even if they weren’t, life was going to be cramped and annoying—and dull—until the all clear was given. More delay before he could get back to the job he was supposed to be doing. That Athos was supposed to be doing. Poor Sylvie had already had her career trashed, and even if her name was cleared, it would take time before she could ever return to it.

And then there was Athos.

God must hate him, d’Artagnan thought. To first take his beautiful Constance from him, and then making him fall for the one person on earth he could never have. D’Artagnan hadn’t even been looking for someone else—had  adamantly not wanted to find someone to replace her, because that was impossible—and all the while, the only person who might possibly be able to nestle in the cold, lonely place inside him that she had left when she died, was right there.

And completely unavailable.

He knew nothing of the person that Athos was in love with, other than Athos had told Sylvie that part of the problem was that they didn’t like men. Athos falling for a lesbian was as sad as d’Artagnan falling for a straight man.

Or maybe that was the point. Maybe they had both fallen for the unobtainable because they didn’t want a proper relationship? Aramis used to do that, he’d once said, before he met Porthos, who was both available _and_ everything Aramis had ever wanted in a lover. Maybe d’Artagnan was doing the same thing to himself.

He wished he could ask Constance about it. She understood this kind of stuff. D’Artagnan had married the first person he’d ever fallen hard for, and until she died, no one else had been on his radar at all.

His phone was charged, so he unplugged and went to look for lunch. He ate in the hospital cafeteria, his back to the wall so he could watch the patrons, wondering if any of them had a silver sprayer up their sleeve to use on him.

There were two memories in his head above all else, that he wished he could unremember. One was the morning Constance had died, watching those last, few breaths, waiting for the next one which never came.

The other was seeing Athos succumbing to the poison, his pupils gone to pinpricks, his face sweaty, his mouth drooling as he tried to suck in the air past the fluid building up in his lungs.

D’Artagnan pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. At least Athos was still alive.

His phone told him it was two o’clock. Time to politely ask if he could see his brother, and to hold onto his temper if he couldn’t.

*******************************

Athos felt lousy. On the upside, he was alive to feel lousy. He counted this a win.

That was the level of his ability to think at this point. He had only been awake about an hour, and a lovely doctor had rattled off what they were doing for him which seemed to be breathing for him until he could on his own, drugging him up to the eyeballs to stop him seizing, shitting, or choking himself to death, and shoving antidotes into him to deal with whatever Grimaud had used on him.

He’d smiled and pretended to understand, but most of it of the time he felt like Ginger the dog. It didn’t matter. They could tell him all over again later, if he needed.

He’d caught a glimpse of police officers outside the door. Keeping him in or someone else out? He didn’t know. Perhaps he should ask. Or perhaps he could let everyone else deal with it. Yes, that sounded good.

The door opened, and around it appeared a familiar, unspeakably welcome face. “Oh, you’re alive.”

“Don’t...sound...so disappointed.”

D’Artagnan grinned and walked over, putting his arms around him and kissing his head. “Surprised and grateful, not disappointed at all. How do you feel?”

Athos looked mutely at the drips, monitors, and to the blanket which concealed a catheter. D’Artagnan chuckled. “I can guess.” He pulled up the chair and gripped Athos’s hand in his own strong, brown one. “You’re a lucky man, the doctor said.”

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Now, yeah. I was a bit...things were hard last night. I thought you were going to die.” D’Artagnan brought his other hand to cover the one grasping Athos’s, as if one hand wasn’t enough to express his anxiety.

“So did I.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes met his. Granted, Athos couldn’t see that well—something to do with the nerve agent and the antidotes—but he could read the despair in his expression perfectly. “One of the worst days of my life,” d’Artagnan whispered.

The agony in those words, and possibly the heavy-grade sedatives he was on, made Athos resolve to say what he had wanted to say last night. Maybe it was a mistake, but life was so fucking short, and it could be cut off so damn easily....

“I want to say something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. But I’m on drugs...and not in my right mind. So...if you’re offended...this never happened.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Of course.”

“Swear it. I need you...to mean it.”

“On my honour as an officer and the memory of my beloved Constance, I swear I will ignore everything you’re about to say if it upsets me. Good enough?”

Athos nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Athos. So, what did you want to say?”

“I love you.” He pulled his hand free and touched d’Artagnan’s cheek. “I _love_ you. I don’t care...you’re not into men.”

D’Artagnan jerked. “I’m not into...the person you’re in love with...is me?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, wait a minute. I’m the one who was unavailable?” Athos nodded, beginning to have a bad feeling about this. “Because I was married? And then—”

“Grieving. Never meant you to know...I just—”

He shut up because d’Artagnan launched himself at him and latched onto his lips. Athos found himself being kissed very thoroughly and not in a manner he could explain away as a fraternal gesture. He put his arm around d’Artagnan, trying to hold him closer.

D’Artagnan was an amazingly good kisser. Athos was sure that he, himself, had to taste like the bottom of a vomit bucket right now, but that didn’t stop the man trying to lick his tonsils.

D’Artagnan sat back and smirked. “What were you saying?”

“This can’t be...how long?”

“I only worked it out last night. But I guess it’s been a while.”

“But you weren’t ready...and you’re straight.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “But Constance....”

“I haven’t thought this through much. The last twenty hours have been...bad. Thinking I was losing you, realising I loved you just as I was about to lose you, doing my nut at Sylvie because she had sex with you and I never would, yelling at Treville trying to make me leave, then spending all morning apologising, and now we all have to worry about whether we’re on a Russian hit list.”

“Um....” Athos’s medicated brain screeched to a halt. “What?”

“Treville needs to know if Grimaud was after Sylvie or all three of us. Who was he aiming for?”

“Um?” His memory of sitting against the wall and dying was painfully clear. Before that.... “He was looking at me.”

“Not Sylvie, or me?”

Athos shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“Hundred...percent.”

“Okay.”

D’Artagnan pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Athos pouted. He wanted more kissing. He put his hand on d’Artagnan’s hair, hoping the lad would take a hint once he stopped messing about on the phone. “Boss? He’s awake, and I’m with him. He says Grimaud was definitely aiming at him, not Sylvie.” He listened, then his face split into a grin. “Oh he’s...fantastic. Yeah, I will. Bye.” He put his phone away. “Boss sends his love.”

“Better...give it to me...then.”

Not being slow on the uptake, D’Artagnan leaned up and in again, and gave Athos what he desperately needed.

*******************************

D’Artagnan stroked Athos’s beard with one hand, holding his wrist with the other. “They said I should only stay a few minutes. Treville and Sylvie are coming to see you later.”

“Mmmm,” Athos said sleepily, smiling at him.

“You’re off your face, aren’t you?”

“Mmmm. Don’t go.”

“I have to at some point. You saved our lives, you realise.”

“All part...of the...service.”

Athos’s eyes were drifting shut, and much as d’Artagnan wanted to sit here, touching him and revelling in him being alive, he knew he shouldn’t. He leaned over and kissed Athos on the forehead. “You sleep, and I’ll come back this evening. You stay alive until then, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

D’Artagnan walked out of Athos’s room with clouds beneath his feet. He hadn’t felt this good in over two years, not since Constance received her diagnosis, and certainly not since she’d died. Was it wrong to feel happy now, when she was still dead?

But even as he asked himself that, he knew what _her_ answer would be. “Don’t be an idiot, d’Artagnan.” He could _hear_ her saying it.

He remembered realising back in the hospital in Stockholm, that he might, one distant day in the unimaginable future, find someone who could sit in his heart alongside his love for Constance—a love that would never, ever die. He never suspected that someone would be his partner and brother—and now, boss, technically—and someone already deeply embedded in his heart.

He should spend some time thinking about this, he supposed. But all he wanted was to go back to Athos and be with him. Which, he had to admit, was how he’d felt about the man for months. Athos was the warm sun under which he bloomed and grew.

Athos would laugh his head off at that idea. He was not famous for his sunny temperament. But that didn’t matter, because his soul was as wide as the Pacific, and as deep as the Grand Canyon. One had to expect a little turbulence in a heart so vast and generous.

*******************************

On Friday evening, a company car took d’Artagnan and Athos back to Pinon. Sylvie had been invited but she said the two of them probably wanted some alone time, which was true.

The car pulled up at the back of the house, and d’Artagnan jumped out to grab the bags. Athos exited without assistance—he had been adamant about that—and after thanking the driver, they walked up to the door together. Athos opened the door. “Mmmm, Isabelle’s been baking.”

“Those first few hours of freedom are wonderful, aren’t they?” D’Artagnan dumped the bags on the kitchen floor, then put his arms around Athos. “Welcome home, love.”

Discovering that Athos loved hugs and was as good at kissing as anyone could ever want, had been one of the many pleasures of discovering their mutual attraction. D’Artagnan should have guessed. While not terribly demonstrative, Athos had always been tactile with the three of them—the three people he trusted most in the world. With D’Artagnan, the tap of physical affection had been turned on to maximum, and d’Artagnan used the flow to help heal his damaged heart.

He made tea and put laundry on while it was brewing. Athos was content to sit and watch from the kitchen table. He had only been released on the understanding he would have someone with him twenty-four-seven. D’Artagnan had assured the doctor that wouldn’t be a problem, while Athos listened to them with a little smirk on his face.

Athos would definitely not be alone for a second, and they both knew it.

By the time d’Artagnan sat down, bringing the cake Isabelle had made as a welcome home gift for Athos, Athos had poured tea for both of them. He reached across the table and took hold of d’Artagnan’s left wrist, something he couldn’t seem to stop doing.

“Possessive much?” d’Artagnan said, grinning at him.

“Can’t help it. This is a miracle I can’t help but think will be taken away from me.”

“I know the feeling.” He covered Athos’s hand for a moment.

“I’m starving, by the way.”

“Cake coming up.”

This was as peaceful as it had been all week. DGSE had finally managed to get Grimaud to admit he’d been acting alone, and the threats to Sylvie were over as well, with the arrest of all the guilty parties. Her suit was going ahead to nail the lies firmly to the ground, but she, like Athos and d’Artagnan, were now free to move around without fear.

And they had the house to themselves for another week. D’Artagnan felt a smile growing on his face as he realised what they could get up to without having to dodge Aramis’s jokes or Porthos’s knowing looks.

“You look positively evil,” Athos said.

“Yeah. Thinking about an empty house, no interruptions, and nothing to do but let you recuperate.”

“Ah, but you forget I’m frail and prone to relapsing.”

“Is this your way of saying “not tonight, Josephine?”

Athos’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “It’s my way of saying, hanging from the chandeliers might be out for a while, that’s all. Have you, uh, ever been with a guy?”

“Yeah. You?”

“A couple of times. Before I met Anne, of course.” D’Artagnan pushed a plate with a slice of cake on it over to him. Athos used his fork to cut a bit off, took a healthy bite, then moaned. “God, that’s good. Hospital food—”

“Is the fucking pits. Yeah, I know.” Athos’s moan had done awful things to d’Artagnan’s comfort in his lower regions. From the look in the man’s eyes, he wasn’t unaware of this either. The way he ate the second bit of cake, lingering over it and staring at d’Artagnan while he did so, made it a certainty. “Bastard.”

“Why? Nothing stopping you doing something about it, is there?”

D’Artagnan moved his hand so he was the one holding Athos’s wrist, then tugged as he stood up. “You know, you’re absolutely right. Think you can manage the stairs?”

“As soon as I am completely fit, I’m going to get you back for all these aspersions on my fitness.”

D’Artagnan pulled him close and wrapped his free arm around him. “I think you should take it out on me quite thoroughly in bed. You know, just to make sure I learn my lesson.”

Athos looked into his eyes. “The day I managed to wear the brat out of you, will never come.”

“But you’ll have fun trying?”

“Oh, of course.”

*******************************

With the lingering, though diminishing, possibility that Athos might yet suffer symptoms while driving, D’Artagnan drove them both to Roissy-le-France the following Friday. The journey was not without its frustrations, but nothing bothered him while Athos’s hand was on his thigh, and Athos’s amused, happy gaze met his glances to the right more often than not. Of course, knowing Aramis and Porthos were to be back with them soon made them both mellow, but joyful sex and a lot of slow, luxuriant snuggling had more than a bit to do with their good moods as well.

D’Artagnan parked up. Athos had called the company car’s driver and found out where she was, and they met up in the Arrivals hall. The driver held a card simply saying ‘ _Le Palais_ ’. She’d take Cornet, his men, and Anne, back to Paris, while d’Artagnan and Athos would whisk their friends back to Pinon. Pierre Ricard was already on his way home to Switzerland. The word was that he was pleased, despite the early termination of his tour, and would hire _Le Palais_ again at the end of the year for more speaking engagements. By then _Le Palais_ should be back to a healthy complement of personnel. It had tripled in size in the last month, with more new staff coming at the end of August. Athos and d’Artagnan’s continued absence had been regrettable, but unavoidable, and they would both be back at work on Monday.

Aramis spotted them first and waved. D’Artagnan waved back, and shortly afterwards, was enveloped in one of Porthos’s bear hugs. Athos got the same treatment, and both Aramis and Porthos took a good long look at him to make sure he was hale and healthy.

“Should’ve come with us,” Porthos muttered.

“Then Sylvie would be dead,” Athos said. He put his hand out to Cornet, just behind Porthos. “Well done, Albert.”

“Thank you, Athos. Glad to see you up and about.”

“No more than I was. I’ll be in the office on Monday, so we can talk then. Enjoy the weekend.”

“Thank you. You too.”

Cornet’s men waved to Athos’s team as they began to move off, and Aramis and Porthos called goodbye to them. But one newcomer headed towards Athos, instead of joining Cornet’s people.

“Olivier?”

Aramis stood aside to let Anne approach. “Anne. You did very well, I hear.”

“Of course I did.” She allowed him to kiss her cheek, then turned slightly. “D’Artagnan.”

“Anne,” he acknowledged with the smallest nod.

She wasted no more time on him, looking back at Athos. “Glad to see you defeated the poison. It would have been tiresome to break in another ex-husband.”

“‘Break’ being the important word in that sentence,” Athos said. D’Artagnan smirked. “I’m back next week, so I can talk to you then, if you like.”

“Make it lunch. My treat this....” She looked down to where Athos had taken d’Artagnan’s hand in his own. “....Time.” She looked up at Athos in shock. “But you’re straight.”

“Absolutely. As straight as any man on my team.”

Porthos guffawed, Aramis twiddled his moustache, and d’Artagnan’s face ached from grinning.

She sniffed. “Well. You learn something every day. I expect details over lunch.”

“Prepare for disappointment, darling,” he said sweetly. “Anyway, see you next week. I have to get these boys home. Enjoy your weekend.”

“I will.”

“So will I.” He gave her a little wave, clapped Aramis on the shoulder, and they all walked away.

“Evil,” d’Artagnan murmured against his ear.

“To the core, and don’t you forget it.”

*******************************

There had been so very few times in Athos’s life when he had been perfectly content that he could remember each one with crystal-like clarity.

Dinner that night had been one more such time, a gem to insert into his memory. Sitting outside as the warmth of the day slowly ebbed away, while they ate fish and spicy rice, and drank sangria—fruit juice for him—had been healing. Listening to Aramis and Porthos talk about the mission, and d’Artagnan telling them of the action-packed and nearly lethal events back in Paris, had been restful and entertaining, and required nothing more from him but a few ‘huhs’ and ‘hmmms’, and the occasional chuckle. D’Artagnan was beside him, Aramis and Porthos a mere arm’s length away, and he could not want more from his existence.

He and d’Artagnan climbed the stairs to their now shared bedroom just as the very last glow of light left the sky. They had had to arrange to take turns undressing the other, as they both enjoyed the task far too much. This time it was his turn to undress his beautiful lover and be the first to get his hands on the warm, brown skin.

Despite the many jokes and single-entendres that evening, he and d’Artagnan had not, in fact, spent all their free time having sex. Even though they had known each other such a long time, this intimacy was new to them, and for d’Artagnan, often bittersweet. Athos trod carefully, knowing he had to allow d’Artagnan to sort out his own feelings, to balance the grief that would take much more time to fade to bearable, with the joy he had found in a new relationship. There had been tears. There had been much more laughter.

And always, there had been gentleness and kindness, and a tenderness too precious for him to ever talk about to anyone else. However short Constance’s time had been on this planet, that she had had this ineffable, unfailingly generous affection turned on her for the last years of her life, made her luckier than many who had lived much longer than she had.

Tonight, d’Artagnan wanted to cuddle. They had, after all, spent a long lazy morning making love before they’d had to go to the airport. “You haven’t stopped smiling all day, do you realise?” he whispered against Athos’s ear. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“You’ve never seen me completely happy before, that’s all.”

“Is it mean of me to keep thinking of Anne’s face this afternoon?”

“If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right. Smugness is one of her more unlikeable traits.”

“Hmmm. Athos, love...you know that program she brought from Ana.”

“The AI?’

“The other one. The viewer.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I, um, still haven’t looked at it. Do you think I should?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes. And no. It’s just...the anniversary of her death is next week, and I feel I ought—”

Athos put his fingers against d’Artagnan’s lips. “‘Ought’ is a bad word in this kind of thing. What do you _want_ to do?”

“I dunno...maybe just...spend the day thinking about her. Maybe lay some flowers. I can remember her so well. I’m...afraid.”

He waited as if he expected Athos to scoff at him. Athos held him closer and kissed his forehead. “Of what, love?”

“That...seeing her talking and moving and being on, you know, the computer...I’m afraid of it all crashing over my head again like a wave, and that I won’t cope.”

“Then don’t. You’ll know when it’s the right time. Doesn’t have to be on a specific date, or a specific time since she died, or for a specific reason. Or ever, if you don’t want to. Nothing you do now will hurt her. Remember that.”

“I’m glad she met you. She really loved you. All three of you, but you especially. I think she’d be happy about this.”

“I know she would be. If I thought otherwise, I’d never have said anything.”

D’Artagnan moved so that Athos’s face was tucked in against his neck. He often used his extra height to take advantage that way. Athos didn’t mind at all. “It’s just the weirdest feeling sometimes. Being with you is nothing like being with her, except when it is. I get this sort of out of body sensation. It’s not...always a great feeling.”

“No, I suppose not. You don’t have to hide that from me. And if you need time alone, I won’t ever be hurt. I know you’ll come back, and I’ll always be here when you do.”

“I know you have faults and bad habits and can be an irritating arsehole when you want to be, but when you say stuff like that, I can’t remember anything but the fact I love you so fucking much.”

Athos huffed in amusement. “When you say stuff like that, I want to cry.” He nuzzled at d’Artagnan’s long throat. “In a good way, though.”

“We’re a pair.”

“We’re a team, Charles. No more you and me. It’s us.”

“Until the heat death of the universe,” he murmured.

“Until then, together.”

**Author's Note:**

> TW: a cat is violently killed off screen. No graphic details.
> 
> Also, Sylvie and Athos are in an extremely brief, non romantic sexual relationship before deciding to be platonic friends.


End file.
